


These Little Vices

by DevilMadeMeDoIt



Series: Vices and Virtues 'verse [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alley Sex, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, BAMF!Cas, Begging, Catholic Guilt, Crossdressing, Daddy Kink, Detective!Castiel, Dirty Talk, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Language, Family Secrets, Fluff and Angst, Food Sex, Handcuffs, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous!Cas, Lingerie, M/M, Organized Crime, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Panty Kink, Porn With Plot, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, Seven Deadly Sins, Sex Toys, Spanking, Top!Cas, bad behavior, bottom!Dean, hooker!Dean, possessive!Cas, priest!Gabriel, shoulder holster fetish, so much sex...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-20
Updated: 2014-03-28
Packaged: 2017-12-23 18:54:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 32,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/929919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DevilMadeMeDoIt/pseuds/DevilMadeMeDoIt
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pride, jealousy, lust...everyone has their vices. </p><p>Detective Castiel Novak, recently transferred to his home precinct in South Boston, comes face to face with his the night Dean Winchester, barely legal boy hooker, waltzes handcuffed through the doors of the Vice Division's squad room with an irresistible laugh and a cheeky grin, as if he hadn't just been arrested for prostitution. </p><p>What happens when a man of virtue gives in to vice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: A Man of Virtue

**Prologue: A Man of Virtue**

 

vir-tue,  _n._ 1\. moral excellence; goodness; righteousness. 2. conformity in life and conduct to moral and ethical principles.

vice, _n._ 1\. an immoral habit or practice. 2. immoral conduct; depraved or degrading behavior. 3. sexual immorality, esp. prostitution. 4. depravity, sin, wickedness, corruption.

 

The July afternoon sun beat relentlessly against the back of Cas Novak's perpetually rumpled Class B police uniform as he jogged up the front steps of St. Brigid's. With the engrained habit of a truly devout Catholic, he dipped his fingers in the font of blessedly cool holy water standing just inside the door of the narthex and crossed himself, sending up a quick prayer. Pushing through the doors of the nave, his eyes swept the long, beautiful stretch of the old church. The church was breathtaking, tall stained glass set into gracefully arched niches, hand carved stations of the cross hung on the stucco walls. He stood in the center of the main aisle and went down to one knee, genuflecting reverently before raising his eyes to the faded muraled ceiling, the vaulted roof bearing the weight of man's infirmity towards heaven. He stood as footsteps and voices indicated that someone was coming out through the door of the sacristy. He caught sight of a priest talking quietly to a prim looking older woman. He was a short man, slender with a hint of softness hidden behind pressed slacks and the crisply starched black shirt with it's white collar. Honey colored hair was slicked back over his head and he was steadily popping what looked like peanut M&M's into his mouth as he spoke. The man glanced in his direction and had been turning back to his conversation when his golden brown eyes whipped back to Cas' face and widened. The priest excused himself from the woman and hurried over to him.

“So...you're really coming home?” His older brother asked his thick South Boston accent comforting and familiar. There was deep concern etched into his usually cheerful, smirking face.

Cas nodded, pulling his hat off and running fingers through his dark, sweaty hair. "No choice, unless I want to pass up the fuckin' opportunity of a lifetime."

The barest corner of his mouth lifted as Gabriel laid a hand on his arm and squeezed. “Be careful, brother.”

\------------------------------------------------

  
  


One week later Cas lifted his briefcase and slid out of his cobalt blue 1974 Ford Gran Torino after he'd parked it. He looked up at the crumbling brick Police station and sighed. His old neighborhood. He had never planned on coming back here ever again.

He had finally traded his uniform for plainclothes, but the achievement felt bittersweet. His Captain had called him into an office that was far nicer looking than any police captain's office had the right to and clapped him on the shoulder, breaking the news that he had passed his exam and would be promoted to Detective. He had felt sweetly euphoric, this was the goal he had been working toward since going through the Academy. Then his triumphant mood had disintegrated when Captain Adler told him that he would be assigned to Vice in South Boston.

He was going home whether he wanted to or not. And he definitely did _not_.

Cas left home almost fifteen years ago after the job that had left their baby brother Alfie dead in the streets of Boston. The impetuous twelve year-old had followed Cas and Gabriel out the night their father had sent them to "persuade" one of his business associates to see reason, and he had been the one to pay the price of crime with his blood staining the pavement.

Gabriel had broken from the family and ran straight for the seminary. Cas had similarly devoted his life to prayer, penance, and service, but had felt no call to follow his brother's path. The only thing he knew was that he would no longer be his father's hammer, a blunt instrument for his use.

He moved to a shabby, cockroach infested apartment in Jamaica Plain and found God again. He refused every entreaty to come back, and he was cut off from the ready flow of cash that he had always taken for granted. He went to bed hungry more nights than he didn't, shivered and gritted his teeth through frigid showers when he couldn't afford to have the hot water turned on. With each month that passed, he struggled with his decision to leave. He had been pampered his whole life, the son of a wealthy, powerful man whose hands found their way into every seedy pocket of the underbelly of Boston.

In a crisis of faith, he had stumbled drunk to church, pleading to the fearsome image of Christ suffering on the cross for answers. The next morning he had woken up confused, a soft brown hand shaking him to consciousness. Father Joshua had found him passed out in a pew using a hymnal as a pillow. He had taken the broken and lost eighteen year old to the rectory, gave him coffee and asprin and asked him what had happened. That morning Cas gave his first confession. From that point on, he found his strength and determination increasing with each mass, each verse of latin, each confession.

St. Thomas Aquinas Catholic church became his sanctuary, his safe place, his place of quiet reflection. His family was Irish Catholic, in name and zealotry only, but in his search for answers, desperate to atone for the part he had played in Alfie's death, he devoted every spare moment he had between working as many jobs as he could find, to God. He attended church at least three times a week, not including weekly confessions.  Father Joshua heard his confessions and offered counsel to him in his weakest moments, encouraged him to make something of his life that would please the Lord. The wise older man had suggested to him that he might look into joining the police force, to protect people from those that would harm them.

He supposed that it was Father Joshua's glowing letter of recommendation that had earned him his spot in the Academy, because his last name alone would have made it impossible to be accepted by the very organization his family laughed in the face of. He graduated at the top of his class, had tried to prove himself in every way he knew how. He became an exemplary officer, and made damn sure that there would never be any reason for his loyalty to his community or his badge would be called into question. He had worked tirelessly for ten years as a beat cop, bastion of protection and safety for the people he had vowed to serve.

It seemed even more fitting now that he had been given his first assignment working Vice. His family preyed on vice, and on people weak or vulnerable enough to give into it. Their “business” ventures included prostitution, gambling, loan sharking, drugs...anything and everything, all the time. With any luck, and his superb investigative skills, perhaps Cas might be able to stem the tide of corruption that flowed from his family like a poisoned river.

He wondered if they knew that following his career had forced him to face the demons of his past. He wondered how long it would take them to seek him out.

\- -

Throughout the first half of his shift Cas had walked the building, gotten himself reacquainted with the holding cells that he himself had been hauled into once or twice as a juvie for fighting and drinking, and was now tucked behind his new desk in the corner of the squad room with a cup of horrible coffee, working through a mountain of paperwork.

As he sat and worked, uniformed officers and plainclothes detectives flowed in and out of the room, all too busy with their own cases and patrols to say much more than a hello, welcome to the team. Lieutenant Rufus Turner had stopped by his desk, shook his hand and asked him if he'd ever worked Vice before. When he'd answered in the negative, the man had grinned and told him he was in for an entertaining night.

Around eight he stood and stretched, groaning with satisfaction as his spine popped, and went to refill his mug with the motor oil that someone had decided passed as coffee. He wondered if they'd notice if he brought in some of his own. He was only a _tiny_ bit obsessed with his coffee, but rarely turned down a cup of anything. He had found that there was almost no coffee he'd ever had that was truly undrinkable, but this shit was close. The thick, sludgy brew was bordering on a science experiment studying if a liquid could also be a solid. He shuddered and went back to his desk.

He had barely sat down when the doors to the squad room were pushed open and he heard voices in the hall. He couldn't make out what was being said, but a loud burst of raucous laughter preceded the group of people around the corner. The laugh was clear, carefree, and infectious.

When they walked into the large open space of the room, he knew exactly who the sound had come from. Two uniformed officers, one African American with a neat goatee and the other a petite brunette with her hair up under her hat led a young man with spiky brown hair handcuffed between them. They were chuckling along with him. “Henrikson and Mills, right?” He greeted, curious. Most people who ended up handcuffed and arrested seldom laughed like that.

They sobered just slightly and nodded. The boy looked at him with unabashed interest, taking a slow inventory of him from his thick, finger combed hair, eyes sliding over his wrinkled white wash-and-wear button up with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, crooked blue tie, and the rich brown leather shoulder holster cinched tight to his body, Glock tucked under his arm. The gaze continued down to his hip with his new shield hooked on his belt, and ending lazily at his feet before he repeated the action in reverse, until sparkling green eyes were locked onto his, a wicked grin on his face. He widened his eyes innocently “Aww guys, you didn't tell me we got fresh meat. He's so yummy too.” The voice was teasing, burred slightly with the promise of deepness with age.

Cas crossed his arms and tried to look gruff as he blushed, and the boy laughed again. He wasn't exactly used to being visually devoured so openly. Or being called "yummy". But, God he was a pretty thing, couldn't be more than 18 or 19. Dressed for the blazing heat, (and what looked like a night of making a living selling that tight little body) he had on tiny denim cut-off shorts, that...Jesus fuckin' Christ...barely covered his round ass. Cas could see the hint of creamy freckled cheeks peeking out from the bottom of the hem. White triangles of pocket stuck out from under the front, and brought attention to the bowed curve of his legs. Black combat boots flopped around his smooth calves with loose laces and a matching black AC/DC tank top clung to a firm chest, showing off toned shoulders and arms. A pair of dog tags hung from a chain around his neck

Cas brought his brain back upstairs and looked at the the three of them. Addressing the boy first he introduced himself. “Detective Novak...ah, I'd shake your hand, but you seem to be under arrest.” He flicked his eyes between Henrikson and Mills. “Anyone care to tell me what he's under arrest for?”

Mills, he thought her name might be Jody, laughed then. “Detective, meet one of our frequent fliers. This here's Dean. Dean Winchester.” She patted the boy on the chest. “Dean's a workin' girl. No matter how many times we haul his gorgeous little ass in here, it don't make a difference. Picked him up tonight for beating the shit out of a john who was tryin' to rough up his friend Krissy.”

Dean pouted comically. "And here i thought you guys loved me and wanted me around for my perky nipples."

Cas cocked an eyebrow. The three of them seemed at ease with each other, and he couldn't detect any real judgement from the two uniforms for the boy, if anything they seemed affectionate, familiar. Interesting.

Henrikson tugged on Dean's elbow gently. “Alright Dean, lets get your statement and get you down to be booked for the night.” They started walking toward Henrikson's desk, and sat Dean down in the chair next to it, his back to Cas. Dean cast his eyes over his shoulder with a coy look, batting his lashes at him. “Nice to meet you, Detective.” He blew Cas a kiss and winked before turning back.

Cas felt...off balance. He'd met hookers before, but none of them had that easy charm that seemed to come to Dean as simply as breathing. Dean looked like he'd seen some shit, but he managed to still have that young, carefree spirit that few ever held onto for long.

He sat at his desk and pretended to do paperwork, but his eyes were on Dean. He noticed how Jody and Henrikson treated Dean like he was just another kid, not a hooker. Jody frequently squeezed his arms or patted his back, and Victor brought him something to eat and drink.

There was something utterly fascinating about Dean. He obviously had a story, they all did, but for the first time, Cas found himself _wanting_ to learn more.

  
 

Little did he know, but his life was about to be turned upside down, and it had started the minute he'd laid eyes on Dean.


	2. Lust

**lust** , _n._ 1\. sexual desire or appetite, esp. when uncontrolled or illicit.  

 

Humid summer days were slipping quietly into the softer heat of fall while Cas and his partner Uriel slogged their way through the stack of open cases on their desks. Uriel had been brought back to investigative work and paired with Cas after he had come off of an eighteen month long undercover job with the Organized Crime unit. His partner was a seriously tough son of a bitch in his early forties with a sense of humor as dark as his skin. Together they worked well, Uriel's years of experience combined with Cas' enthusiasm for the job, and between the two of them they had cleared more cases than any of the other pairs of detectives on the squad.

On a busy Friday night, Cas was at his desk waiting for a new informant for the Narcotics case he and Uriel were working. The squad room was a hive of activity, uniforms pulling in prostitutes, johns and drug dealers, cycling them through the available interrogation rooms and back down the ancient stairs to book or release them.

One of the interrogation room doors opened and Balthazar and Ellen, two of his fellow detectives, followed out behind a crying girl. Ellen had her arm around the dark haired waif of a girl in a torn tie-dyed sundress and a denim jacket who had bandages taped to one of her cheeks, murmuring softly in her ear as they escorted her downstairs.

Balthazar came back up first and flopped gracefully into the chair next to Cas' desk, slumping down in the seat to rest his head on the back, one foot propped on his knee and his hands draped over his stomach. Despite his so-casual posture, he didn't look half as wrinkled as Cas did on his best day. His slim fitting slacks and uncomfortable looking shoes were paired with a black sport coat with the collar flipped up and yet another of the soft looking v-neck t-shirts that Lt. Turner had long given up trying to get him to trade for a more conservative button-up. His friend heaved a sigh and closed his eyes. “Fuck I hate it when the young ones get hurt.” His voice was tired, not his usual bored nonchalance.

Cas glanced at his watch, Ash was due at any minute, but it looked like Balthazar needed to vent. “You mean the girl you and Ellen were talking with?” He asked. “Yeah, Krissy...poor street kid, parents died a couple years ago, went through the foster system, unfortunately ended up getting treated worse there than she ever has working on the street. Last month she was attacked by a john with a knife, but another street kid, Dean, think you've met him.” Balthazar rolled his eyes. “Kid's in here enough, I'm sure you've met him...'nother sad tale, that one. Well this kid fought the john off and I guess they thought he was gone, but he tracked Krissy down last night and managed to get her alone. He threatened her with the knife, forced himself on her, and cut her face so she wouldn't scream. She was lucky to get away from this guy alive...since she told us about this him, we've been putting our feelers out for any similar cases in other precincts. A first-timer this fellow is not. Hopefully we can get him before he kills a girl.”

Cas was half listening, nodding along and making sympathetic noises when appropriate, but his mind was on Dean now. Ever since their initial encounter his first night on the job, he'd seen Dean brought in about half a dozen times, most times with a legitimate reason to have been arrested, but he noticed sometimes the uniform's stories were weak. He'd gone down to the holding cells a few times and found Dean curled up on one of the little cots with a pillow and a blanket, looking vulnerable and young in sleep. Once, when there hadn't been any others in the cells, he'd seen the desk sergeant at his post with his little television facing the cells and Dean sitting cross-legged in front of the bars watching Dr. Sexy M.D.

Balthazar had said Dean had a sad story, and Cas was curious now. One did not become a prostitute for fun and games, there had to be some sort of tragedy in the boy's past. He was about to go over to the bank of filing cabinets along the wall to look for Dean's file when Garth, a tall gawky uniform, walked into the squad room with a stoned looking guy.

“Cas? You waitin' on a guy named Ash? Says he's an informant.” He nodded and waved the man over as Balthazar stood up from the chair and waggled his fingers in a goodbye as he went back over to his own desk. Satisfying his curiosity about Dean would have to wait.

\- -

After he had gotten as much information as he could from Ash, and set him up as a Confidential Informant with the squad, the man had left Cas to his thoughts. He was sitting at his desk now with a thick file, going through each sheet trying to understand what had led Dean into the life he now lived.

According to the file, Dean was nineteen and the sole guardian for his younger brother Samuel. Their mother had died when Sam was an infant, and their father, a Marine had carted the two boys across the country from base to base as he followed his career as a military man. Unable to move on from the pain of having lost his wife, the mother of his children, John Winchester became an alcoholic, to the extent that he had been dishonorably discharged from the Corps and he had wandered with his boys up and down the east coast until they had settled somewhat in a small town outside of Boston. The three of them lived in squalor for several years until John was killed one winter night driving drunk. The man had decimated what savings he had, the college funds of both boys, and there had been nothing left, no life insurance, nothing. A seventeen year old Dean had taken his brother and run, he had refused to let them be separated in the system. Protecting Sam was an order that had been drilled into the boy's head since childhood, and he would do it at all costs to himself apparently. They had lived in a homeless shelter in Boston while Dean tried to find work, but there were few places that would hire a teenager who looked about three years younger than his true age, even fewer that did not try to take advantage of him. Eventually, out of desperation, he had turned to selling his body to anyone who would pay. He and his brother moved frequently to avoid being reported to Child Services, and Dean made sure they survived.

As he finished flipping through the file, he felt a heavy, sick feeling in his gut. Dean had certainly not had an easy life. How was it that he still managed to seem so...full of life? That laugh, his smiling face swam up in Cas' brain.

He was deep in thought, and startled as Uriel dropped his heavy body into the creaky chair across from Cas with a grunt. “How'd it go with the C.I. Cas?”

They were discussing what Cas had found out, and where they planned on taking the case further when the very laugh that Cas had been thinking about not twenty minutes earlier cut through the chatter of voices and endless ringing of telephones in the squad room. Cas' eyes were pulled unconsciously over to the boy cuffed between Garth and Jo Harvelle, Ellen's daughter who was a uniformed officer with the squad, and the spit dried in his mouth.

 _Jesus_...How on earth did a hooker manage to look so exuberant? Even in his requisite “uniform” of tight denim short shorts, and a cut up Red Sox tee pulled snug and knotted at the back with his combat boots, he looked like any teenager out for a night of fun rather than a boy forced to trade sex in order to provide for his only family. His skin was tanned and lush, and Cas thought about what it would feel like to run his hands up shaved smooth legs to cup that fantastic ass.

A loud noise of disgust broke him out of his fantasy and he looked over at Uriel, who was staring at Dean with a sneer. “Goddamn I fucking hate whores. They spread their filth all over my city.” Cas stared at his partner. “Uri...they do happen to be people you know. People with problems.” He looked back at Dean and found green eyes on his. He frowned and thought about what he had read about him. Dean froze and his expression changed from one of easy flirting to annoyance. “Have you ever taken the time to find out about how they ended up that way?” Cas was irritated at his partner. Uriel barked out a harsh laugh. “Castiel, the fuck do I need to know about them? They're whores. The only thing I care about is getting each and every one off the streets.”

Cas slapped the notebook he'd been writing case notes in down and strode away from his desk before he said something to the senior detective that might get him in trouble.

Fuck. They weren't just whores. Dean wasn't just a whore.

Cas came back from splashing water on his face in the bathroom to find both his partner and Dean gone from the squad room. He decided to cut out from his shift a little early and head home for a much needed beer. He definitely didn't detour through the floor with the holding cells to see if Dean was in there...he wasn't anyway.

Foul mood only turning fouler, he fired up his car and peeled out into traffic. As he sat at a red light he glared at the benevolent face of his Blessed Mary statue on the dash. “What?” He snapped. She didn't answer, just beamed at him lovingly. She was no help.

\- -

By Saturday night he was still irritated and was struggling to relax. It was one of his rare weekends off, and he should be spending it on the couch or in a bar watching a game, but instead he was holed up in his tiny kitchen, working on a fifth of Jack and cleaning his guns.

He finished cleaning and stripping his service piece and moved on to the gun he had carried from his past, a reminder of the thug he'd once been, a slick silver Beretta 92FS with a black grip.

He growled in frustration. Why wasn't it working? Cleaning his guns always managed to relax him. He put away the guns in their safe and moved into the living room, bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers as he walked over to his weight bench. He would lift some, maybe do some push ups. Cleaning his guns didn't work, maybe he needed to let out his tension by working out. That worked, too.

He lifted, he curled, did push ups...none of it was helping. He was halfway through his third rep of pull ups when he dropped to his feet and shouted wordlessly.

Fuck.

Maybe he just needed to get laid. It had been a while for him. Being a devout Catholic didn't mean he didn't enjoy the sins of the flesh now and again, but more often than not he just didn't take the time to date or hook up. Then there was the whole being-bisexual-and-Catholic thing. He didn't think who people fucked should make a difference in what they believed in, but other than his brother and Father Joshua, the priests he knew sure had a problem with him bumping uglies with men on occasion and always tried to save him with religion when they found out.

He grabbed his tan leather bomber jacket and his keys as he stomped out the front door. Green eyes and smooth tanned skin teased through his mind as he drove for the Roadhouse, a LGBT friendly bar slash club in midtown. He'd find some pretty young willing thing and lose himself for a few hours in the rhythm of skin pounding into skin and then hopefully feel like himself again by the time he had to go church Sunday morning.

\- -

Cas was sitting on a stool in front of the long bar at the Roadhouse, waiting for Inias, cute little hipster kid tending bar, to bring him his Jim Beam and ginger ale. He got a wink as the drink was set down on a cocktail napkin in front of him and he thought he smiled back, but from the look of things, he'd probably scowled. Sighing he turned and surveyed the room, looking for potential partners. There was a veritable sea of beautiful men and women, but none really seemed to catch his eye in particular.

He was on his second round and making another sweep of the place when he saw a slim, finely muscled body in the corner talking to a man and a woman. He was pretty sure that the person was male, despite the fact that they were wearing a green tartan plaid pleated mini skirt. He looked with interest at the white mesh t-shirt trimmed at the neck and sleeves with black and the little white knee socks with black bows on the back. His mind went blank as he saw unlaced black combat boots scrunched up at the ankles.

Of course Dean would fucking be here when he was trying to get the little shit out of his system.

He didn't realize that he was staring, scowling harder than ever, until he saw the man and the woman glance at him and back to Dean. Were they trying to pick Dean up? Was he propositioning them for a night of his pleasures?

A growl rumbled out of his chest unbidden when Dean tossed his head around to glare at him with a wicked spark in his eye. The couple slipped away and Cas watched as Dean stalked toward the bar, hips swaying sinfully, making that little skirt swish around his thighs as he walked.

Dean had caught the attention of several people in the crowd, but the second they looked at Cas' face, they turned away in a hurry. Dean walked right up into Cas' space, hot little body nearly pushing at his knees, and he stopped with his hands propped on his hips as he looked up at Cas on his stool. “I'll have you know that your stupid cop face just cost me three grand and a night in a hot tub and king sized bed at the Plaza.” Dean pouted at him, but his face was angry.

Cas let out a sound of exasperation. “Dammit Dean...why are you doing this?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “What? Getting paid to get fucked and loving it? I got no problems with how I live my life, detective. Lemme guess, you decided to take a gander at poor wittle Dean's sad sob story? Now you wanna save me, right? Well lemme stop ya right there, pal. I'm good. I make more money in one night than I could ever make workin' some minimum wage job and I get to make sure Sammy has a good life away from all the crap I see every day. So fuck you and your hero complex, and unless you wanna make it up to me, I've gotta go make some money.” Dean turned and blew a kiss at Inias before stomping toward the door.

Cas sat there staring at the empty space in front of him still buzzing with the Dean's energy for a full minute before hauling himself off the stool and running for the door. He hit the sidewalk and looked in both directions, eyes straining to see a pert little ass in a fuckin' schoolgirl skirt anywhere. He huffed out a deep sigh and turned to trudge down the alley toward his car parked a few blocks away.

He came to an abrupt halt halfway down the badly lit alley when he saw Dean leaned up against the brick wall with one leg bent and propped against the wall  smoking a cigarette and grumbling to himself. He noticed Cas standing there, but made no move to leave or stand straighter. “What do you want now?” His voice sounded tired

Cas walked over...he hadn't planned out what he would say or do if he found Dean. He looked at the boy in his little fuck-me outfit and wanted him out of this life. Wanted him safe, if only for the night. He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and fished it out, opening it. “I don't have three grand, but I can give you what I have.” Dean scoffed. “Fuck, man...I don't want your money. By the way, isn't that like...thirty two flavors of messed up for you, detective? Buying a hooker, and you a Vice cop.” He tsked at Cas like he couldn't believe him. But Cas saw the way his eyes took in the bills, his expression pained at the thought of letting the money go.

Cas was frustrated and horny, and he just wanted to go the fuck home and take care of it, so he yanked the cash out, fuck if he knew how much it was, and shoved it into Dean's hand. He turned to walk the rest of the way to his car when a hand grabbed onto his wrist and pulled him around so that his back was to the rough brick. He looked down to find Dean crouched in front of him, fingers pulling at his belt with practiced ease. Dean had his jeans open and his half hard dick out before Cas shook himself out of his shocked stupor to take hold of Dean's hands that were reaching for him. “Dean! What the fuck?!” He squawked as he pulled the boy to stand. Dean tugged at his hands still gripped in Cas' fists. “I'm not gonna let you just fuckin' give me money, you asshole. I'll do whatever you want, please...I can't just take this from you for nothin'.” Dean's eyes were wide, frantic. God, did he really think he was worth so little?

Cas turned them both until Dean's back was pressed against the wall, Cas' hands pinning his next to his head just above his shoulders. Dean was fighting him, broken, bitten back sobs falling from his lips as he pleaded with him. Cas stepped in and pinned his lower body, trying not to groan as his bare cock pushed underneath the soft hem of the skirt. “Stop this Dean.” His voice was harsh, but as he looked into Dean's eyes glittering with unshed tears he softened. “Stop, please.” Dean closed his eyes and slumped back against the wall.

He looked so defeated. Cas let go of one of his hands to cup a soft, flushed cheek, pressing his forehead against Dean's. His breath came out shaky as he leaned in and kissed plush pink lips. Dean kept his hand up above his shoulder, but whimpered into the kiss. Cas pulled back and his eyes flicked over Dean's face. “Please Cas...please let me. I just can't...Please...I'll make it good for you I promise.” Cas groaned and dropped his face into the crook of Dean's neck.

He was going to need some fuckin' extra-strength penance after this...

He nodded against Dean's shoulder and released the hand he still held to the wall. Dean sobbed in relief and his hands came down to circle around Cas' cock, stroking it expertly into perfect hardness. He jerked his hips and thrust into those soft, hot hands as he licked and sucked at Dean's neck. His own hands slid around Dean's back, feeling the weird texture of his mesh shirt under his fingertips before moving down to drag the skirt up over Dean's ass. When his hands encountered lace he groaned, pushing back from Dean enough to yank his hands off of his cock and grip his hips, shoving him around to face the wall.

With a low growl, he pushed the skirt back up and Dean arched his back, showing off the lacy black panties he was wearing. Cas' hands slammed into the wall next to Dean's head as he kicked the boy's legs apart and snapped his hips forward, unable to resist shoving his cock against that ripe offering. Dean moaned and ground his ass back onto Cas' cock, making it slip up and down along the cleft. “Fuck...Dean...” Cas gritted out as one of Dean's hands reached back between their bodies to stroke his cock, pre-come smearing luridly over the back of his panties and his cheeks. Cas thrust hard against him and thought that if he didn't get inside Dean pretty fuckin' soon he was gonna blow his load all over that slutty little skirt.

He curled his fingers into the waistband of Dean's panties and tugged them down his hips, over his ass until they were down far enough. Neither of them bothered to get much more undressed. Cas took deliciously sharp little hipbones in his hands and pulled back, making Dean's upper body fold slightly and he held himself up with one hand against the wall. Cas spread his cheeks and cursed as he stared down at the perfectly tight furl of Dean's pink hole. Dean's hips stuttered as he stroked the calloused pad of his thumb over the hot, twitching muscle and moaned. Cas was about to spit into his hand and get this fuckin' show on the road when Dean's hand appeared between them holding a packet of lube and a condom.

Where the fuck had that come from? Dean grinned at him over his shoulder as he wiggled his ass temptingly, challenging Cas to focus on his face. “You got your office supplies, I got mine.” Cas snorted but took the packets out of Dean's hand. He tore open the little tube of lube and spread it over his fingers and massaged it into Dean's hole, making his head fall back. Cas pressed one finger in and groaned as it was swallowed up easily to the knuckle, Dean rocking his hips against the pleasure of the intrusion. “More, Cas...gimme...I can take it baby.” He shouted out a “Yes!” as Cas pulled back and lined up two fingers, slamming them in to that velvet heat, fucking into him hard. He slipped a third finger in barely a minute later and used the fingertips of each finger to drag over Dean's prostate as he stroked in and out. Dean was fucking back against his fingers and forward into his own fist wrapped around his cock hidden from Cas' view behind the skirt. “Fuck...now Cas! Fuck me now!” He whined.

Cas pulled his fingers out and ripped the condom open with his teeth. He hissed as he rolled the cool latex down over his cock and slicked himself up with the remaining lube on his hand. He stepped back to Dean and pressed against his wet, needy hole. “This what you want, Dean?” He pushed inside just enough for the fat purpled head of his cock to pop through that impossibly tight ring of muscle. He stopped, holding himself there until Dean was panting and trying to fuck himself back onto Cas' length. His hands slid to Dean's hips under the skirt, holding it up with his forearms so that his view of Dean stretched so wide around him was clear.

With a barely human sound of need he surged forward, thrusting inside until he was seated completely in one go. Dean screamed in pleasure and that was all he needed to hear before pulling back to thrust in again, that ass thudding against his body as flesh met his clothed hips. Dean's fingers clawed against the wall as he jerked himself in time to Cas' brutal thrusting and his moans were punched out breathily as Cas' cock bottomed out deep inside over and over again.

Cas squeezed his eyes shut, trying to hold off his orgasm as long as possible, his fingertips pressing bruises into Dean's hips. Dean's voice rose higher and higher, his hole clenching down so fuckin' tight around his cock and Cas was done for. He was struggling to keep his rhythm as Dean came with a shout, and his final thrust was hard, shoving them up against the wall as he emptied himself into the condom.

They were both breathing hard, gasping for air. Dean straightened as much as he could with Cas' softening cock still buried inside him and arched backward to press an openmouthed kiss to his slack lips. They kissed lazily for a while, until Cas slipped out of Dean's body. Dean turned around, panties still down around his knees and peeled the condom off, tying it off and tossing it in the direction of a dumpster. Cas watched as he pulled a tiny packet of wet wipes out of that same nowhere that the condom and lube had come from and used a few to wipe Cas off and then himself until he felt clean enough to pull those panties back up in a ridiculously prim way that made Cas laugh as he smoothed his skirt down over his ass and down the front.

Cas tucked himself back into his jeans and tried to pull his shirt down in the front to hide the wet lube stain on his crotch. He looked back up at Dean, embarrassed. Dean just cocked an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat. Should he offer Dean a ride home?

Dean rolled his eyes and huffed out a laugh. “I'm good, detective. I can get myself home safe. Remember, I don't need a white knight. Not a princess.” He grinned at Cas' frown and shooed him toward the end of the alley. Cas shuffled off toward where his car was parked. He threw several glances back over his shoulder, and each time Dean just grinned at him and blew him a kiss.

He made it to his car on legs he would never admit were shaking. He just fucked a hooker. He just fucked a hooker for money in a fuckin' alley.

As he slid behind the wheel he saw the statue of Mary and idiotically tried to avoid looking at her. He was terrified to see a disappointed frown on that beautiful beatific face. He panicked and pulled her off the dash, tucking her into the glove box before leaning over the steering wheel, scrubbing a hand over his sweaty face.

Extra-strength penance in-fucking-deed.


	3. Greed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains Daddy Kink. If you dont like it, or would like a synopsis of the plot progression for this chapter, please inbox me. Daddy kink isn't for everyone.
> 
> otherwise, enjoy!

 

 **greed** , _n._ 1\. excessive, inordinate, or rapacious desire, esp. for wealth. 2. extreme desire for something, often more than one's proper share.

  
  


Three weeks.

It had been three weeks since the epic lapse in Cas' moral fortitude that led him to fuck a vulnerable ( _gorgeous, irresistible_ ) boy in a goddamn alley ( _Jesus fuckin' Christ, he was fucking hookers, taking the Lord's name in vain, how far down was he gonna fall?_ )

Said gorgeous boy had surprised him with a bashful grin and a steaming paper cup of fuckin' amazing coffee on the Monday morning following their tryst and they had talked. Well, Dean had talked while Cas stood in front of the station turning every shade of red Crayola had ever made. Dean had tried to ease his guilt, and tried to apologize for the moment of weakness he was clearly ashamed of. Cas felt he had maybe a little bit of a better understanding of Dean then...the kid could be starving to death and he would still try to earn whatever someone would give him. He probably prided himself on never taking charity.

Cas had wanted to kiss him right then, feel his crooked smirk blossom under his lips, but instead he had reached into his jacket and pulled out one of his cards that had his contact information at the station as well as his private cell number and pressed into Dean's palm with the promise that he could call him any time he needed him.

Dean had sucked his full bottom lip between his teeth and nodded, Cas convincing himself that he didn't see a tiny flicker of disappointment in those green eyes before the boy had turned to leave. At the last second he'd swung back around and grabbed Cas' face, smacking a kiss to his stubbled cheek. He'd pulled back with a saucy smile that almost went all the way to his eyes and said, “See you around, Detective. Enjoy the coffee.” Cas had stared at him openmouthed, skin burning where Dean had touched him, as he disappeared around the corner and into the crowd of pedestrians.

It had only taken him a few days to realize that his stupidly weak excuse for giving Dean his card was a sham. He couldn't forget about him. But the object of his near constant fantasizing was for once not plaguing his waking hours as much as he did in the small hours of the morning when he'd succumb to sleep and the sense-memory of smooth skin under his hands, pleading, breathy cries and a writhing body pressed between him and a brick wall overwhelmed him.

Dean had not been brought into the station in weeks, and inquiries made after the charming boy were met with shrugs and curious looks. He hoped Dean was keeping himself safe and out of trouble, and not avoiding him.

\- - -

An unseasonably warm September afternoon found Cas at his desk flipping through a stack of witness statements and police reports that Uriel had gathered for the illegal gambling syndicate case they had caught a week ago. He paid brief attention to the neatly typed words, his mind wandering yet again. Uriel did good work, and Cas didn't think twice to sign his name where needed to get the case pushed through to be cleared by the brass.

He had made it three quarters of the way through the pile when his desk phone jangled in its cradle, startling him out of a tantalizing daydream of Dean dancing for him, hips gyrating slowly as he stripped off delicate, lacy white panties. He shook his head and cleared his throat before lifting the phone to his ear. “Novak.”

\- -

He pushed in the door of the little shop and looked up as a cascade of bells announced his entrance. He was frowning, confused as hell. He'd driven to the address Dean had given him with single-minded intent, not noticing the evasive tone when he'd asked what was wrong. Dean had just begged him to come. He'd called him. Granted, it wasn't what Cas had hoped Dean would call for, but dammit, he'd told the boy to call if he needed help and that was what he'd do if it was the only contact he'd be able to get. Now that he was here though...in a lingerie shop no less, he was getting irritated. What the hell was going on?

Cas caught sight of Dean sitting at a table in the tiny back room of Becky's Boutique, wringing his hands and biting his lip. His eyes were wide and he could see faint, dried tear tracks down his flushed cheeks. He looked the picture of shame and fear.

It was total bullshit. He'd seen Dean handcuffed and being led to fuckin' Booking with a mile-wide grin on his face.

He snarled in frustration as he stormed through the door. Dean whimpered and a woman, he could only assume she was 'Becky', intercepted him and stood in front of him with crossed arms and a disgusted look. “Sir, can I speak to you privately?”

“What's he done?” Cas jabbed a finger in Dean's direction. The little fucker started crying pitifully.

“Please, Daddy! Don't be angry...I couldn't help it, I'm sorry!” He wailed.

 _Daddy?_   “What the fuck Dean?!” Cas ignored the the way his cock twitched when Dean pleaded with him in favor of being furious over the fact that he had apparently conned the woman into thinking Cas was his father.

Becky grabbed onto his arm with sharp fingers and pulled him out of the room. “You listen now. Your son was caught stealing several hundred dollars worth of lingerie, but from what I understand, he's got a bigot and homophobe for a father who refuses to accept that his son likes to dress in women's clothing. No wonder he feels like he has to steal, when you treat him like that!” She spoke in a shrill whisper, her voice straining with the urge to shout at him.

He stood there with his jaw hanging open. Goddamn that boy was good.

“Now, I can see that you're a police officer, so I'm going to let this go. I'll take back the items that he stole, and you can take him home. I strongly suggest that you talk to him about this.” Her hands were on her hips, mouth pursed shrewdly, and he had the distinct feeling that _he_ was the one in trouble here.

He looked over her shoulder at Dean and he saw that innocent look melt right off of his gorgeous face. He smirked at Cas and gave him an infuriating little wink.

Cas frowned for a second and then smirked right back as an idea hit him. Dean paled slightly at the predatory grin on the detective's face and Cas managed to force his features into something contrite as he looked back to the blonde shop owner.

“Actually ma'am, I really think you've helped me see a little reason concerning my son today. Let me pay for the things he took, perhaps he and I can come to some sort of agreement. I don't want him to feel ashamed of himself.” He hung his head as he tried not to grin like a maniac with the thoughts now running through his mind.

The woman beamed at him, pleased to have supported the troubled young man and get paid as well. She walked over and patted Dean on the arm with a warm smile before she left to go ring up the huge pile of satin, lace, and ribbons that had been sitting next to the table. “I'll give you two a moment to talk about this, please meet me up at the register when you've finished, Sir.”

Cas turned on Dean the moment she bustled out the room. Dean opened his mouth to start, but Cas cut him off, leaning down until he loomed over him where he sat. He put both hands on the arms of the chair and looked Dean in the eye before moving to brush his mouth against his ear. “You had better believe you will be paying me back, _son_. One way or another.” His tongue traced the delicate curve of skin beneath his lips and Dean gasped and squirmed as Cas trailed one hand up his inner thigh before pinching tender flesh between his fingers.

He straightened and turned, striding out of the room. Oh yes. Dean would pay him back. The last time might have been about not taking Cas' charity but this time...oh this time would be about working off the debt he now owed Cas. With interest.

\- -

Cas drove them back to his studio apartment, the paper bags stuffed full with lingerie and decorated with fluffy tissue paper sat between them. In total, the scraps of fabric had cost him about $300, and he was more than ready to receive a return on his investment. His mind wandered as he drove, imagining that tight, lithe body in them.

He parked with a screech in front of his building and hauled the bags out of the car as he stood. Dean climbed out and Cas jerked his head in the direction of the front door, indicating Dean should walk ahead of him. The boy cast a look over his shoulder, apprehension and something else flitting across his face. Cas nudged him up the stairs and fished his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door.

Dean stepped inside and his eyes wandered over the meager evidence of his spartan residence for a minute before Cas shoved the bags into his hands and pushed him in the direction of the bedroom. Dean entered before him and stood watching as he sat down on the edge of his king size bed and patted his lap. Dean sat the bags down on the floor and crawled up onto the bed to straddle him. Cas wrapped his hands around his hips and looked up into those enchanting green eyes. Dean tried to rock his crotch against Cas', but his grip tightened and stilled his movements.

“You have been a _very_ bad boy Dean. You told that lady that I was your Daddy, and lied to get out of being in trouble. Well, you have yourself a very angry Daddy now. You know I have to punish you, don't you?” Dean's breath hitched and Cas watched his pupils dilate as he went along with the game.

Dean licked his lips and his hips jerked in Cas' hands. “Yes, Daddy...I'm so sorry.” His voice was breathy and artificially high. The innocent tone made Cas growl and grind his now rock hard cock up against the boy. One hand slid up Dean's back to fist in his hair and pull him down for a kiss. When they parted, Dean's lips were swollen and glistening with spit. Cas kissed and nipped his way to Dean's ear. “You're not sorry baby boy, but believe me, you will be.”

\- -

Cas was sitting on his crappy brown sofa, stroking himself slowly though his khakis as he waited for Dean to come out of the bedroom. He heard the door creak open slightly and his eyes whipped over. The door was cracked just barely. He knew Dean wasn't this timid, that it was part of the roleplay. If he thought Cas wouldn't play, he was in for a surprise.

“Everything ok, baby?” He called out.

The voice came shy and soft. “I...I feel funny, Daddy. I don't want you to see me like this.”

“Come out now, Dean.” He said firmly. “Let Daddy see you in the things you tried to steal.” He licked his lips and pressed the heel of his hand against his cock in anticipation.

He watched the door open wider to reveal the boy behind it. “Fuck, Dean...” He saw Dean smirk briefly before the flushed, innocent look took over again. He walked slowly over to stand in front of Cas on the couch, hands behind his back and one foot hooked on the ankle of the other. He bit his lip and looked at Cas as his eyes drank in every inch of what stood before him.

Dean was dressed in a tight, [light pink satin corset](http://www.amazon.com/Velvet-Kitten-Babycake-Ruffle-3100/dp/B00BZADB28/ref=sr_1_140?s=apparel&ie=UTF8&qid=1377221578&sr=1-140&keywords=pink+corset), the stays pulled to the max against his flat chest, nipped in his slim waist to create curves. There was a mound of ruffles across the bust and hem, with sweet little bows decorating the hips and center. Underneath were matching ruffled panties and Cas' mouth watered to see Dean's cock straining against the soft material in the front. Attached to the openings of the panties were thick pink garter straps that led the eye down Dean's delicious legs to smooth white stockings that had tiny pink hearts on them.

Cas groaned and reached out to run his fingers over the silky stockings, dragging his nails on the bare skin between the lacy tops of the thigh highs and the panties. "Mmm, _baby_..." Dean gasped in mock surprise. “Daddy! I feel...” Cas slipped his hands around Dean's thighs to spread them and pulled him down hard to straddle him. “What do you feel, baby boy?” He whispered as he carded fingers through Dean's hair, stroking the back of his neck.

Dean bit his lip. “I feel all tingly and hot, and it hurts a little bit.” Cas slid a hand down the ruffles and lace of his corset until he palmed Dean's leaking cock in his panties. “Here, baby? This where it hurts?” Dean pushed himself against Cas' hand and whimpered. “Yes, Daddy...” Cas squeezed the cock in his fingers and leaned up to suck and lick at Dean's neck. “It's okay, baby, promise. Wiggle your butt a little, feel what Daddy has in his pants for his boy.” Dean panted and did as he asked, grinding his ass against Cas' cock in tight circles. “Does it hurt you too, Daddy? It's sooo big.” Cas groaned as he bit into Dean's shoulder. “Don't worry about Daddy, baby boy. Let's not get distracted. You still need to be punished, remember?”

Dean moaned and bucked his hips as he looked down at Cas, eyes wide and plush lower lip trembling. “I'm so sorry Daddy...please...” Cas shook his head and patted Dean's ass. “Need you to lay down across my lap. Daddy has to punish you, or you won't learn right from wrong.” Dean squirmed around until he was laid out over Cas' thighs, back arched and legs spread slightly. Cas stroked fingers up Dean's legs, dragging one through the ruffles stretched over the cleft of that sweet, plump ass.

Dean pushed back against the touch and Cas moved his hand. “What if someone else caught you today, baby?” He pinched the skin at the crease of where thigh became ass on each leg and Dean yelped. “Would they have bought you your pretty things and taken you home?” He slapped at Dean's left ass cheek lightly. “Answer me.” He kept up his stroking as Dean pulled in a shaky breath. “No, Daddy. I would have been in big trouble.” Cas chuckled. “Oh, you're still in big trouble, but luckily for you, your Daddy knows just how to punish you.”

He slid his fingers underneath the elastic waistband of the panties and played against the skin there. His voice lowered, deep and dark as he told Dean what he was going to do to him. “Daddy's gonna pull down these pretty little panties and beat his bad boy's ass with his belt until its all hot and red. Then you're gonna suck Daddy's big cock and get it all nice and wet while he stretches your slutty hole open so he can fuck it.” Dean moaned and ground his cock against Cas' thigh. “If you're good and take your punishment like a big boy, Daddy might let you come. Think you can do that baby?” Dean nodded hard, eyes wild as he looked back at Cas.

His hand pushed under the panties and tugged them gently down over Dean's ass with one hand until they were halfway down his thighs. He slipped his belt from their loops and folded it over in half before patting it lightly against Dean's peach-tender skin. He rested his hand across the center of both cheeks and rubbed softly until Dean relaxed. He raised his hand holding the belt and brought it down in that same place, hard. Dean bit his lip and bore down against the sharp pain with a little grunt. “Good boy, Dean.” Cas murmured.

He laid into Dean then, alternating sharp and blunt strikes, until Dean was sobbing “Daddy, _Daddy_...” and rutting his hips against Cas' thigh. When there was a fine collection of welts raised onto burning red and pink skin he stopped, listening to Dean panting and gasping. He tossed the belt behind him and licked the fingers of one hand before stroking them over the heated skin. Dean hissed and writhed. He soothed his fingers against the marks as well as he could until Dean was whimpering and pushing back against his hand.

With his free hand, Cas reached down and cupped Dean's jaw, turning his head so that he could see his eyes, deep dark green now and fever bright. His cheeks were flushed and the tip of his tongue was peeking out from the corner of his lips. Goddamn he looked so fucking precious like that. Cas helped him sit up with one hand on his back and one on his shoulder until he was kneeling at his side. Sliding a hand to the back of his head, he pulled Dean in for a kiss, hot and sloppy wet, teeth clacking together as they both groaned into the feeling of lips and tongues feeding from each other.

He pushed Dean back from the kiss with hands framing his face. “Do you feel sorry yet, baby boy?” Dean's eyes were drowning pools, dark with want and he pulled that lip inside his mouth again, biting down on it as he fixed Cas with a look that never made it to innocent. “I dunno, Daddy. I wanna show you how sorry I am.” His tongue flicked out over his mouth and slid sinfully across his lips. Cas groaned. “Oh yeah? How are you gonna do that, baby?” Dean blushed prettily, fuck...how did he manage to do it on fuckin' cue? Sitting there on his knees, he leaned forward to whisper into Cas' ear. “I wanna suck your big cock, so you know how sorry I am, Daddy. Can I?” He pulled back and Cas stared at his mouth, rock hard in his pants and feeling like he was going to burst his zipper right then and there.

With his eyes locked onto Dean's he ripped his button and zipper open as fast as he could, shoving his khakis and underwear down in one go, hissing at the cool air making contact with the feverish heat of his dick. Dean licked his lips again and reached out to wrap a hand around him, a groan slipping out of him at the feeling. Dean let go of him and before he could grab his hand to put it back, he brought his palm up to his mouth and licked wetly, skin now slick and hot and fucking amazing as it circled him again, stroking gently, almost hesitantly as Dean smirked at him. Smug little shit.

Cas took in the sight of Dean kneeling there, ruffled panties bunched up around his thighs, flushed leaking cock spreading dark stains on the fabric of his corset. The pretty thing was twisted around and pulled down from the wriggling he had done in Cas' lap, and his nipples were exposed, dusky pink and hard. Dean gasped and tightened his grip on his cock when he took one nipple between his teeth and nipped, the tip of his tongue flicking rapidly over the sensitive bud until Dean cried out above him, hips thrusting against Cas' stomach and fingers wound through his too-long hair. He raised his eyes to find Dean staring at him, lips parted as he panted. It was fucking intoxicating, those breathy little sounds more addictive than any drug Cas helped pull from the streets, and he knew in that moment he would never be able to resist anything this beautiful boy offered.

With a groan he wrapped his arms around Dean, the fingers of one hand tangling in the silky ribbon lacings of the corset, the other hand working its way up from a stockinged ankle, over soft skin and the delicate folds of a thigh-high that had slipped from its clips and ended up around Dean's knee. He pressed tiny kisses to Dean's chest, tongue reaching out to circle the aureola of the other nipple as his hand traveled from knee to inner thigh and back, teasing against Dean's perineum with his thumb, fingertips searching for the entrance to the body he was worshiping. He reveled in the sound and feeling of Dean coming apart in his hands from such small touches, growling when his fingers found that hot little hole slippery with lube already, a slim rectangle of silicone pressed flush between Dean's cheeks.

He jerked on the back of the corset, pulling Dean back at the same time his teeth sunk down around the nipple he'd been laving with his tongue and Dean cried out for him. He tapped his fingers against the base of the plug in Dean's ass, making the boy twitch and shudder as the sensations were felt deep inside. “What's this now, baby boy? Did Daddy tell you that you could play with yourself baby?” Dean sobbed out a moan and shook his head, body grinding down against his fingers now gripping onto the toy. “I...I'm sorry Daddy! I didn't mean to be bad.” Cas tugged on the toy, feeling the resistance as it pulled against Dean's slick rim, and Dean whimpered. “Did you put this in when we got home, baby? Did you fuck yourself on your toy thinking about your Daddy seeing you in your slutty little outfit.” Heat was pooling in his gut as he waited for Dean's answer. Dean's hand had long since stopped moving on his cock, but as his boy panted and bit his lip, he grabbed onto his wrist and brought back to him. He was dripping precome now, and Dean's palm stroked over the head, using his own wetness to fuck his hand down onto Cas' cock. Dean's hips were rolling slowly as he jerked him, Cas' hold on the plug letting him grind down onto it. He took his hand away and Dean whined, then yelped when he slapped his already abused asscheek. “Answer me, slut.” There was the sound of harsh breath as the air was punched out from Dean's chest. “D-Daddy! No. I-I played with my toy earlier t-today. B-Before the s-store.”

Holy fuckin' shit...that meant Dean had been walking around for hours, riding in the front seat of Cas' car, straddling his fucking lap with a fucking plug up his ass, stretched open and ready to be fucked. For hours. His fingers dug into the meat of Dean's thigh and gripped as he moved him, manhandled him until he was where he wanted him, one knee on either side of Cas' thigh and jerked his hips down, ass thudding against the hard muscle. He keened as the position shoved the plug deeper inside. “So not only is Daddy's boy a little thief, he's a little fucking whore too. Walking around stuffed full of some fucking toy, teasing your Daddy with your little game. You wanted me to take you home and fuck you, didn't you baby?” Dean whined and rocked hard against his thigh. “Oh God! Yes! Fuck! Yes, Daddy, yes!” The hand not on Cas' cock reached for his own, but before he could take himself in hand, Cas snatched it at the wrist, as well as the one around him and pulled them back behind Dean's back, holding them tight together in one hand, the other hand coming down to slap Dean's ass. “Dirty little boys don't get to touch. This is what you're going to do, baby boy,” His voice dropped down into a low rumble. “You're gonna ride Daddy's leg, fuck yourself with that toy in your slutty fucking hole until you beg me to let you come.” Dean started grinding onto him in earnest, head thrown back as he moaned. His eyes snapped back to Cas' when he brought his knee up hard at the same time Dean was pressing down, and the most utterly debauched sound he had ever heard fell from those lips. Cas picked back up where he'd left off with a hoarse whisper. “Then, since you're already fucked open and wet for me, Daddy's gonna lay you out and fuck you into this couch the way dirty little whores like you like, and you're just gonna beg me for more, aren't ya baby?” Dean's face screwed up and he bounced faster and faster in his lap. He cried out and fell forward, forehead pressing against Cas' as he begged then. “Daddy...please let me come! I need to c-come, Daddy, please!”

Cas felt possessed. He had never been so completely enraptured in the heat of passion like this in his life. Watching Dean's face, feeling his hot breath against his mouth as the boy begged, he felt like [St. Theresa in the embrace of the angel](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Santa_teresa_di_bernini_03.JPG). This was ecstasy. He captured Dean's lips with his own, kissed him as if he could drink his soul and circled one hand around the base of Dean's achingly hard cock, squeezing tightly as he murmured against his lips. “No.”

Dean wailed and jerked against his hands, his body, a torrent of pleas filled the air and Cas held onto him. “Shhhh, baby, calm down for me.” He held Dean to him and pressed kisses to his sweaty hairline, stroked fingers over his back and shoulders as Dean sobbed and hiccuped in his arms. “Shhhh, Daddy's gonna take care of you, baby. I promise. I need you to take your punishment like a good boy and then let Daddy take care of you.” He soothed and stroked and held on until Dean's body stilled. He let go of Dean's cock to tug the panties off of his legs and slipped both hands under Dean's ass, lifting him up enough so that he could turn them on the couch. He laid Dean back, shoulders propped up against the backrest, ass right to the edge with his legs hanging off. Cas leaned over him and kissed him, soft and deep as he brushed tears from his cheeks. “You're doing so good, baby. Such a good boy for Daddy.” Dean whimpered as their lengths slid together, so hard, so hot it was all he could do to not just rut himself against that pliant body until he was covered in his come.

He pulled back until he was kneeling between Dean's open legs, raising them until they hooked over his shoulders and spread him open invitingly. He groaned when he saw that tight little hole that had swallowed him so greedily weeks ago in that alley stretched and clenching around the hot pink base of the plug. He stroked the tip of a finger around the rim and Dean's legs tensed, fingers clenching around the fabric of the cushions. “Daddy _please_...” His voice was strained, broken. He looked up at Dean as he began twisting the toy slowly while he rubbed his thumb against his perineum. “Please Daddy what, baby?” Dean's eyes squeezed shut when he started to pull the plug out, and Cas' gaze dropped to watch the rounded end of it emerge, stretching him wider and wider as he held it there with the widest part sitting just at the edge of his hole. He wiggled it inside and Dean screamed. “Fuck! Daddy fuck me, please! Please....” The last 'please' was drug out as he sobbed and Cas couldn't wait anymore. He pulled the plug the rest of the way out and almost came when he saw how Dean's hole gaped open just slightly before it shuddered and clenched down. He remembered (barely) to grab the condom out of the pocket of his pants still down around his knees and ripped open the foil, sliding it on as fast as humanly possible. He stood, kicking his pants off, cock in hand and scooted Dean back further onto the couch so that he could rest one knee on the edge of the cushion. He lined himself up and Dean wrapped his legs tight around his waist as he pushed inside slowly.

His brain short circuited as he bottomed out and he fell forward, catching himself with his hands on the back of the couch before he crushed Dean. He was muttering and cursing under his breath, struggling to hold back when all he wanted to do was slam into Dean with every ounce of his strength until they passed out. Dean's legs tightened and he felt him shift restlessly underneath him. “Please, Cas...Please...make me scream for you Daddy...fuck me, fuck me please.” Dean's soft plea was whispered against Cas' chest and he felt lips kissing his sweat slick skin. Lifting himself up, he looked down at the wrecked boy beneath him. He fisted his hands against the back of the couch and moved, hips pulling back, sliding out and out and out until he felt the head just catching on the clenching rim of Dean's opening. With a full body shudder he snapped his hips forward and they both cried out to God.

There was no stopping now. He slammed himself inside, over and over, Dean's hands clutching at his back as he moved within the velvet heat of his body, claiming, taking, begging for absolution at the altar of their fevered joining. Their moans and cries rose between them as they came together with the resounding smack of skin on skin. Cas' hips jerked and stuttered as Dean squeezed down around him like a constrictor and he cried out. “Cas! Cas fuck please let me come now...fuck...Daddy, please please I wanna be your good boy, so good for you, all for you.” Cas nearly roared at the words and he thrust harder, faster than he'd ever though possible. “Come for me baby, Dean...fucking come for me.” Blue eyes locked with green and he saw the moment the orgasm spilled through his body in his eyes before he felt it. The look of pure bliss on that face, the knowledge of how it came to be, sent him off the edge nearly at the same moment and he couldn't tear his eyes away as they exploded together.

He collapsed then, falling down over Dean's body, the movement of it pulling him out of Dean, still half hard and spurting come. He rested his face in the crook of Dean's neck and breathed, harsh gasping breaths. After nearly ten minutes kneeling there against him, Cas felt like he might be able to move his legs again. He pulled the condom off, dropping it carelessly on the carpet, rose up and winced as his knees popped, but the pain was forgotten when he took in Dean spread out, unmoving, eyelids fluttering. He grinned when he stood, scooping the boy up in his arms and carried him to his bedroom. They were both sticky with sweat and Dean's come, but Cas wanted to see him spread out on his sheets as he recovered.

Laying Dean down gently, he moved to the sink in the corner and wet a washcloth. He wiped himself down and rinsed it before bringing it back to the bed. He stood for a moment to appreciate the truly sinful picture Dean made against his pale blue sheets. One stocking was hanging off his limp foot, trailing almost to the floor, while the other was still in place but ripped at the knee. His stomach was coated with the pearly white mess of his come, patches of it still glistening under the light filtering in through the window as his breath moved the skin stretched taut over his abdomen. The corset was loose and half turned backwards, a delicate little bow on the front hanging on by a thread.

Cas crawled onto the bed with a grin. Best three hundred dollars he had ever spent.

\- - -

The sun was setting when he dropped Dean off in front of a ritzy looking hotel downtown.

Dean had woken up naked and clean, snuggled against him with a panicked “Fuck! What fucking time is it?” and scrambled out of bed to throw his clothes on. When he looked back at Cas in the middle of the bed, sitting with a frown carving deep furrows between his brows he rolled his eyes. “Jesus, Cas. I'm gonna be fucking late for work. And I didn't even make sure Sammy got home from school, ok, so I just...I gotta fucking go ok? Can you drop me off?”

Cas had grumbled, refusing to feel the stab of jealousy trying to burn hot through him. He had dressed in presentable enough clothes to go back into the station and followed Dean out of the bedroom to the front door. He was silently fuming when Dean turned, as if he were about to say something, apologize maybe, and his eyes caught on the couch and he shuddered before raising his gaze to Cas'. Before he could think, Cas had him up against the front door, kissing him like he could brand him, fingers digging into Dean's hips hard enough to bruise. Dean kissed back fervently, his fingers scraping against Cas' scalp as they clung together. Too soon though, Dean shoved him back, the look of regret on his face putting out the fire roiling in Cas. “I....Cas...” he sighed. “I really need to go.”

\- - -

Cas pulled his car into his spot in the staff lot at the station and nearly ripped the gearshift from the dash as he shoved it into park.

He just needed to go in and finish signing the statements for their closed case and he could go get fucking hammered. He sure as shit wasn't going home. Not yet anyway. Maybe he could crash for the night at Gabriel's. His brother lived in the rectory next to the church and he was pretty sure he had a spare bed.

The idea was sounding better than ever. Maybe a little confession under the influence was just what he needed. He laughed bitterly. Yeah. Just like old times.

He'd stomped out most of his aggression on the long stairs before he got to the floor that housed Vice and he was quiet as he pushed open the door to the squad room. He was about to turn the corner at the end of the little entry hall when he heard voices in the otherwise quiet room.

“I swear I feel like I'm the only one up here in this damn squad room who's noticed how many fucking cases they've cleared since he came back.” Ellen's angry tone was strained.

“What exactly are you trying to say, Harvelle?” Balthazar's was hard, suspicious.

“Look B, I know Cas is your friend, but he's a fucking Novak for Christ's sake. And Uriel just came off a fucking year and a half undercover in fucking organized crime. You think he didn't come across the Novaks? They control more than half of the businesses in our precinct alone. What if they got to him? To either of them? What if cases are just slipping their way through? Wouldn't be the first time a good cop got greedy and took dirty money to look the other way.”

“Shut your fuckin' mouth, now before someone hears you. You got concerns? Take 'em to the Lou.” Balthazar whispered harshly and Cas barely managed to duck into an open doorway as footsteps stomped past his hiding place.

His stomach churned. He knew _he_ wasn't a fuckin' dirty cop and his partner was a good goddamn man. He wouldn't turn traitor, especially with Cas' own family...would he?

 

 


	4. Envy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas seeks out help when he hits a brick wall, falls ever further for Dean, and they share something that takes them both by surprise.
> 
> Also, handcuff sex and holster!kink-y goodness :D

 

**en-vy** _ n.  _ 1\. a feeling of discontented or resentful longing aroused by someone else's possessions, qualities, or luck.  _ v.  _ 1\. desire to have a quality, possession, or other desirable attribute belonging to someone else.

  
  


_Those who eavesdrop rarely hear anything good._

Cas was cursing whoever had coined that particular little tidbit of warning advice.

For days after he had overheard Ellen and Balthazar's heated argument, he'd all but bathed himself in whatever alcohol he could lay his hands on, hoping to drown out the words that had planted seeds of doubt in his mind. You weren't supposed to doubt your partner, for fuck's sake.

God. If only he could unhear it all.

But he couldn't. And now, well, now he couldn't let it go.

He'd sobered himself up (mostly) enough to make it into the station for his shifts, spending most of the long hours with one eye on his partner, watching every moment, hoping to all hell he wasn't being obvious as fuck about it.

At the end of every shift, he pretended he wasn't smuggling old case files out of the station in his briefcase. He pored over them each night, at his cramped kitchen table, with a bottle of who knew what at his elbow for company, until his vision blurred with exhaustion and frustration.

Tonight was one of those nights. His eyes felt gritty as he squeezed them shut, pinching the bridge of his nose hard between his fingers, fighting the urge to yank out his hair. He was pretty sure if he bothered to look in a mirror right about now he'd look like absolute shit.

He was so fucking tired.

Tired of spending his days tense and watchful, and never seeing anything. Tired of spending his nights searching in vain for evidence of betrayal, and never finding a goddamn thing. Tired of it all.

He was especially tired of not sleeping in his own fucking bed anymore.

His other little issue had him setting up camp each night in his fucking busted up La-Z-Boy because apparently his bed was haunted by the ghost of the sweet-in-sleep, breathtakingly beautiful boy he'd spent a few precious hours cradling in his arms.

The couch was similarly off limits, though for a decidedly filthier reason.

Fucking Dean.

Cas snorted and took a long swig of truly crappy bottom shelf bourbon that burned its way down his gullet and into his empty stomach. That was the problem, really: fucking Dean. Well no, it was probably about fucking time he was honest with himself. The fucking hadn't been the problem. It was the after. Holding him, trying so damned hard not to wake him while stroking his fingers over his soft cheeks, his lips, not knowing what the hell to do with the feeling of never wanting to let him go.

Then the spell had been broken when Dean woke up. Not immediately after, mind. That part would be burned into Cas' brain for the rest of his miserable life. Those handful of seconds when Dean had blinked sleepily up at him and smiled before nuzzling back into his chest with a contented little sigh. Cas had seen forever in that tiny moment. A thousand lazy morning smiles just like that one, and he wanted. God had he wanted.

But those had only been seconds. In the blink of an eye Dean had been out of his arms, out of his bed, panicking about being late for work. The near-pissed off look on his face when Cas must have scowled, like he knew exactly what he'd been thinking about. Throwing on his clothes in one hell of a hurry, not even sparing half a thought to what had become of the lingerie Cas had so carefully stripped him out of and tucked away in a dark corner of his closet. All but demanding him to escort him to the hotel like he was some kind of hooker taxi service. Like just another john, taking a piece of what didn't belong to him, all because he'd had no sense of self-control.

With a sigh that was probably 80% pure alcohol fumes, he hauled himself up from the piles of papers strewn over the table, trying not to stumble his way over to the recliner. If he was lucky he'd get a good four or five hours of bourbon soaked sleep before he had to be back at his desk. He settled into the well-worn leather and closed his eyes, hoping he'd fall off as soon as possible.

Fifteen minutes later he was still awake and could not for the life of him get comfortable enough. After fidgeting around for another five he got up with a muttered “Fuck it.” and dragged his sorry ass into the bedroom. It was his bed, dammit, and he was sleeping in it, ghost or no.

Throwing himself down face-first and still dressed in the middle of the bed, he reached up, sliding his hand under a pillow in order to drag it down and stuff under his head. His fingers brushed over something foreign, soft and delicate feeling. Curious, he pulled it out, and blinked at the sight of the pink bow resting in his palm. Squeezing his eyes shut again and fighting the stab of aching want, he crushed the scrap of satin ribbon in his fist.

Fucking Dean.

\- - -

On Monday morning, Cas took a deep breath and pushed open the door to the Tech Surveillance unit hidden away in the basement of the station. The hallway behind him buzzed with the sound of the sickly yellow fluorescents lining the ceiling and from a distance he could hear the murmur of voices from Records and the evidence lock-up.

He'd continued his entirely fruitless search through the weekend and he was at the limit of his already worn-thin patience. Part of him was relieved that he'd found nothing, but until all avenues had been exhausted and Uriel's guilt or innocence proven for his own peace of mind if nothing else, the relief was edged with a nervous, irritating tension.

So with no options left, he was here, about to try to make a case to the resident tech wizard Charlie Bradbury to dig into his partner's private affairs and keep it under the radar, for now. Cas had never met the guy, but despite his own misgivings into the usefulness of the tech unit, he'd found crucial dirt on an impressive number of high profile criminals and had been essential in bringing many of them down. Just last year his meticulous digging and cyber-investigative skills had played a key role in cutting the knees out from under Dick Roman and his syndicate of white-collar associates, finding all the sticky little fingers and the pies they'd been stuck in. Even he had to concede that such stellar work should be lauded and rewarded. But the guy was something of an enigma, rarely seen, ensconced away in his basement warren of...well, Cas was about to find out.

This part of the station was one he typically avoided, if he could help it, though he'd seen others come and go while he was down in the basement conducting other business. He typically preferred doing his police work the old fashioned way, pounding the pavement and gathering informants, not really understanding how a few mouse-clicks and lines of code solved crimes.

Also, technology was not his friend. He'd had an old beater of a laptop for a while, a gift from Joshua after he'd gone through the academy but it had met with a fiery, boozy end a few years ago when he'd accidentally knocked over a half-drunk bottle of Johnny Walker onto the keyboard at the peak of an unfortunate masturbatory session in front of a porn site. It was a pop-up, really, no idea how he'd ended up dick in hand. Really.

The entry hall of the Tech Unit was dimly lit and cramped, the walls on either side lined with tall metal shelving units fairly overflowing with electronic equipment. Cords and keyboards stuffed in boxes haphazardly, what looked like a lifetime supply of compressed air-duster, monitors of all shapes and sizes. It was intimidating and honestly baffling to a guy who didn't even own a television.

Out of a gap in the shelves, a haggard-looking Asian kid that couldn't have been more than eighteen shuffled down the hall, his arms full of notebooks and the handle of an enormous chipped Boston PD mug clenched in his fist. He brushed past Cas without looking up from his notes, not even stopping when Cas spoke up in the hush of the space.

“Uh, hey, is Bradbury in today?” He asked.

The kid grunted in what Cas assumed to be an affirmative and gestured over his shoulder with his coffee.

“Thanks. Have a good one.”

In a soft sounding monotone the kid responded with a “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” and disappeared into what looked like a supply closet someone had shoved a desk into and papered the walls with Post-its and scraps of computer printouts. The door shut behind him with a resolute thud and Cas shrugged.

Following the direction the mug had sort of pointed out, he ended up in front of a door with a large poster with green computer code and the words “Welcome to the Matrix.”

Whatever the fuck _that_ meant.

He knocked and a voice far too chipper for this early in the morning called out an “Enter!” The door opened into a room that Cas just had to take a minute to fully absorb. The L-shaped desk was crammed full of monitors all showing something on the screen. There were more posters on the wall and some shelves that seemed to hold only a collection of action figures. A huge leather rolling chair sat in the middle of the desk, and over the top of a head of bright red hair, he spied what appeared to be a video game. Interesting.

“You Bradbury?” He asked.

The chair swiveled to reveal a slender whip of a young woman in what he was sure passed for business casual, somewhere. For about thirty seconds he was bewildered. Wasn't Bradbury a man? Huh. He'd just assumed. Regardless, he was here and he needed help.

“Ah Officer Grumpy! What shit assignment did you pull to send you down into my domain?” She said with a grin.

“I-”He frowned. “Detective.”

If possible her grin stretched wider. “Pardon?” She asked far too innocently.

“Its Detective.” He crossed his arms over his chest.

“My bad. _Detective_ Grumpy.” He fought not to let his frown deepen into a scowl. “What can I do ya for, Detective?”

Deciding to let it go and get on with it, he jumped in with both feet. “I need you to do a profile for me, financials, phone records, the works.”

She motioned him forward and spun her chair back around, a complicated looking series of clicks and keyboard strikes exiting out of the game screen and pulling up the department's official screen. She held out a hand and he stared at it. Snapping her fingers she huffed. “Requisition.”

He stuffed his hands in his pockets and scuffed a toe against the floor. “I uh. I need it to be off the record. For now.” He added hastily when she looked at him sharply, but he noticed the glint of curiosity in her eyes. Hoping it would work in his favor, he continued. “Its...fuck. Its my partner, Uriel Wisdom. I need to know if he's into something shady. I just...I need to know.” 

Her head cocked to the side, considering. “And why exactly is Internal Affairs not involved?” 

He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. “'Cause if he's  _not_ doing something shady, and I fucking pray to God he isn't, I don't want that kind of accusation on his record. He's a good cop.”

She squinted at him, calculatingly. “And what's my incentive here? You realize you'd be asking me to do something not exactly legal, yeah?”

He smirked, not nicely. He'd come prepared for this. “Because then the brass would find out all about how every now and again assets seized in drug busts and OTB raids conveniently go missing and anonymous donations show up at various community charities.”

She paled. Hah! He hadn't known for sure that it was Bradbury doing it, but he knew now, and that knowledge would be his leverage.

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment before her eyes narrowed shrewdly. “Why Detective, that's positively Slytherin of you. Pretty genius, actually. Didn't think you were the blackmail type.”

He ignored the blackmail comment. “I don't- Slytherin?”

She slapped a hand to her face and groaned. “Alright. I'll look into your dude. But it ain't gonna be fast. Just be patient, Padawan. I'll get you what you need.”

He nodded and held out a hand to shake on it. Just as he'd turned to go she spoke.

“Remember to be careful what you go looking for. You might not like what you find, and then you can't ever not know it.” She said, a serious look on her face.

He held eye contact for a brief moment and then walked away. He knew, had told himself that over and over since the start of this thing. But dammit, he had to know.

\- - -

Later that night, Cas was crawling through the run-down streets in the rough part of the neighborhood in an unmarked Crown Vic, eyes sharp on his surroundings. Uriel had the night off and Cas should have been at his desk slogging through paperwork, but he was restless as fuck. He hadn't been able to sit still for long, and he'd unconsciously slipped his hand into his pocket more times than he realized, fingering the soft, silky bow he'd tucked into his pocket without understanding why, really. 

He'd been thinking of Dean more and more lately, thoughts wriggling their way underneath his skin until his head was full of him and his body was tense with frustration. It'd been almost two weeks and he'd had zero contact with the boy and even though he knew it was likely for the best, he couldn't help but grit his teeth when hot streaks of jealousy flared through him every time he thought about what Dean was doing.  _Who_ he was doing.

So he'd signed out a car and gone looking.

Stupid as fuck, but here he was, watching warily as a barely disguised drug deal went down on a corner. Girls dressed, or  _not_ rather, stalked the sidewalks with hard eyes in care-worn, overly done-up faces. 

And Dean was out here, somewhere in the thick of all of this shit. He could hardly stand the thought, let alone the reality of the life his occasional lover lived. 

The further he drove, the hotter his temper simmered, seeing that the bodies for sale got younger and younger looking the farther he drove. He had to speed up at one point when a girl who should be tucked up somewhere safe in bed because it was a school night slid her hands down her sides and bent forward, tiny breasts pushed up by a heavily padded bra nearly spilling out of her top, an amateur imitation of a come-hither seductive smile made his heart clench painfully. Dean hadn't been much older than her when he'd started.

Fuck, he was so fucking fucked. 

\- -

Cas found him down a darkened alley a few hours later. He had almost driven past entirely, but just as the mouth of the alley was about out of sight, a light somewhere down it flickered brighter and the face he saw almost nightly now in his dreams was thrown into stark relief. 

Dean had his back to the wall, posture relaxed on the surface, but Cas saw the wary way his eyes flicked around, keeping his escape options in clear view. A burly looking man was in front of him, hands on Dean's hips as they talked. Negotiating a price, most likely. Dean's face lit with that infectious grin of his and he tossed his head back, mouth open. Cas could practically hear that laugh, and he instantly hated the man for hearing it instead. 

Without thinking, he flipped the lights on and squeezed the wide vehicle down the alley, noting with satisfaction when the man jumped away from Dean and held up his hands. Cas snarled when Dean just rolled his eyes and slumped against the brick wall, fishing out a cigarette from his back pocket.

Cas stepped out of the car, holding his jacket back from his hip to reveal his badge. The man's eyes bugged out comically and Cas could see the flop-sweat break out over his forehead.

“Officer! I....It isn't what it looks like.” The man said pitifully.

Dean snorted at the same time Cas did. “Yeah, sure it isn't sweetheart. Just having a friendly conversation in the privacy of a dark alley in the skin district.” Dean's sarcasm was as biting as ever, and strangely it had Cas' lips quirking up in an almost-smile. 

He frowned hard at the man. “Get the fuck out of here, go home to your wife. Don't ever come near this boy again. I will find you.” He said, intentionally dropping his voice down in a low growl, the better to scare the shit out of the poor sap.

The man gulped and beat a hasty retreat down the alley, disappearing quickly and leaving he and Dean alone in the alley. 

With one eye on the boy he strode back to the car, cutting the lights, the alley immediately falling into darkness once more. Dean blew twin streams of smoke out of his nostrils and watched him with a smirk.

“So what can I do for you, Detective. Need a quick fuck so you can fill your guilt quota for the week?” The voice was nonchalant, but underneath there was a hint of something Cas couldn't identify.

He growled and snatched a handful of soft white t-shirt, dragging Dean the few feet over to the side of the car and turned him, shoving him up against the cold metal. His cuffs were in his hands and in the next second he was slapping them onto Dean's wrists one at a time, his arms now restrained behind his back. 

Dean purred and it only incensed him further. “Mmm are we playing tonight, Detective? Don't tell me, you're gonna be the bad cop.” He dragged out the word 'bad', stretching the 'a' out teasingly. His hips pushed backward brushing against the erection Cas didn't realize he'd gotten. 

Biting back a groan, he shoved forward again, this time with his whole body, pinning Dean with a knee pressed between his thighs. He lowered his mouth to Dean's ear and nipped, loving the way the body beneath him shuddered. “I'm done playing, Dean.”

Dean whimpered deep in his throat as Cas trailed his lips and tongue down the side of his neck. His voice was husky when he spoke. “Yeah? What are you gonna do about it? You're not my Daddy now, I don't have to listen to a word you say.” 

He raised his head from where he'd been sucking marks against the tender throat. He gripped Dean's shoulders and spun him around to face him. The eyes looking up at him were blown dark and hooded, but there was a tiny shard of uncertainty in that gaze. Cas felt his own eyes soften slightly. Dean licked his lips and swallowed hard and arousal throbbed through him insistently. 

Squeezing his eyes shut he leaned in, so Dean could hear him. “You have exactly  _one_ chance here to tell me you don't want this Dean, I fuckin' swear. You drive me goddamn crazy, and if you don't want this you better goddamn say so. Right. Now.” The last of his words were whispered against the clean, sharp line of Dean's jaw, so soft and smooth and smelling like pure temptation. 

With a needy sounding groan, Dean's face turned and their lips caught on one another's and every single nerve in Cas' body sizzled. He pushed Dean back against the car, the cuffs scraping metallically against the side panel, mouth open wide and  _devouring_ the sweet-smoky mouth beneath his. The kiss was rough and demanding, teeth and tongues and heat. 

Sucking in a harsh breath, he pulled Dean's head back with a fist in his hair and forced him to meet Cas' eyes. “That better be a fucking 'Yes'.” There would be no misunderstanding here tonight, because this was all or nothing. He knew now that if Dean said no, he would never be able to be around him, in any capacity, ever again.

Dean arched against him, pushing their hips flush together and Cas could feel him hard and hot through his jeans and Cas' slacks. With a snarl Dean attacked with kiss-swollen lips, his teeth latching onto Cas' bottom lip, tugging in a painful, possessive way that made him ache with needing now, now, now. 

“Yes, you bastard, yes, fucking yes.” He gritted out against Cas' mouth. “Fuck me like I know you want to. Fuck me like you mean it.”

Cas groaned hard and slid a hand down the front of Dean's jeans, wrapping his fingers tight around the hard cock hidden inside. Dean hissed and jerked, fucking as best he could into Cas' fist. Breathy whimpers fell from Dean's lips as he rocked fast and faster, already so close. Just as he felt Dean start to tense, he released him, pulling his hand back as Dean cursed his name and swore a blue streak. 

Cas smirked and pressed a kiss to trembling lips, backing away before it got too heated. Dean glared at him hard, but the look was somewhat diminished by the glaze of arousal in the green eyes. He stripped out of his jacket, barely feeling the autumn chill, and tossed it onto the roof of the car. His hands dropped to his belt, dragging out the action of unbuckling it when Dean's eyes snapped hungrily to the outline of his cock straining against the fabric. Belt undone, he moved to the fastenings, teasing them open slowly, and Dean whined. 

“You want this?” Cas palmed himself, eyes falling closed at the pressure and friction. A rustle of clothes and the jangle of chain alerted him to movement, and he opened his eyes, startled to find Dean down on his knees, looking up at him, pleading. He nuzzled his face into Cas' groin, nosing along his cock, breath hot and damp where it passed through the cloth. A muffled “Please, please” had him groaning hard, fingers sliding into Dean's hair just as lips wrapped around the head of him, sucking him through his pants.

He yanked his zipper down hard, probably ruining the damn thing, but he couldn't give less of a fuck at that point. He lifted himself out and was immediately engulfed by the most perfect wet heat imaginable. A tongue teased into his slit and he bit off a hoarse shout when he was swallowed down, the head of his cock bumping against the firm, squeezing flesh of Dean's throat. 

The feeling was unimaginable. He'd fucked Dean twice, yes, and it had been fucking incredible, but nothing in the world would ever compare to the sensations racing through his body now, pushing him closer and closer to release with every bob and dip of that head. 

“Fuck, Dean! Your fucking mouth!”

His hands dropped to the sides of Dean's head, his hair dripping sweat at the temples, and thrust his hips forward, trying to be as gentle as possible while fighting the urge to fuck that sweet, snarky mouth and spill down that throat. He nearly lost it when Dean moaned around him and shoved forward, stuffing his own throat full of Cas' cock. He looked down, losing the battle of holding himself in check and found Dean's eyes wide and begging. Dean swallowed around him, and he was done for. 

His hips snapped forward, hard and fast, fucking Dean's mouth and throat like it was the last thing on Earth he would ever do. Dean was gasping and wet, needy little moans spilled out around him when he had enough air for sound. His fingers clenched tighter against Dean's scalp and he was almost there, almost, Jesus had he ever needed to come so badly? 

Movement against his leg brought him out of his mindless pursuit of orgasm and he looked down to find Dean pressed close against him, trying desperately to rub himself off, thrusting against him, searching for friction. 

Right. Dean was still cuffed. 

With a pained groan, he pulled out of Dean's mouth, holding him back with a hand on his shoulder when he tipped forward, trying to chase his cock. Fuck. Had he ever seen anything more fucking gorgeous than Dean hungry for him? For  _him_ . Not for money, not just any fucking cock.  _Him._

Without his cock buried in Dean's throat, his mind was just clear enough to reach down and haul Dean up to lean against the car. He kissed him, hard and fast.

“You got any of those handy little lube packets on you?” He asked, voice only a little strained.

Dean snickered, but his eyes were sharp. “Of course. Condoms, too.” He jerked his head over his shoulder. “Back pocket.”

Cas stepped into him, bodies pressed tight together and groped his way to Dean's back pocket, squeezing his ass hard and Dean grunted, bit his lip. He fished out the packets and left Dean standing there as he moved around and opened the rear door. Sitting on the edge of the seat he crooked his finger and Dean stepped in front of him, looking down.

Tossing the condom and lube on the seat he held his hands out and stroked his hands over Dean's hips. He leaned forward and traced his tongue along Dean's length inside his jeans. Breath rushed out of Dean's lungs in a burst of sound. Looking up at Dean, he wasted no time popping the button and sliding the zip down. He grinned when he saw all the underwear Dean _wasn't_ wearing underneath and started to push the jeans down his thighs. Dean groaned. Opened his mouth, closed it. Opened it again.

“I- Cas. Put a condom on me first.” Dean looked away as shame flushed his cheeks.

Oh.

He reached into the back pocket again and pulled out another condom, but laid it with the other on the seat. Eyes never leaving Dean's he pushed the jeans down and held onto him, stroked his hips with his thumbs as Dean kicked his boots off.

When Dean was bare from the waist down, he pulled him close, holding up the bottom of his shirt so he could press soft kisses against his belly. He touched Dean, looking up at him with no trace of judgment or rejection in his face, held him and stroked him until something melted in Dean and he bit his lip with a small smile. Only then did he pick up a condom.

He bent to his task, rolling the slick latex down Dean's cock until he was fully covered. He licked at the tip with the flat of his tongue, but immediately pulled back with a bemused half-smile.

“Flavored, Dean? Really?”

Dean snorted, cheeks flushing again. “Well, yeah. It doesn't happen often, but no one likes the taste of latex. Its called being considerate, asshole.”

Cas hummed and without warning, took Dean into his mouth, swallowing to the root, Dean's cry of pleasure felt like he'd won a prize.

He sucked at Dean, tonging the thick vein up to the head, lapping and teasing until Dean was twitching and writhing in his grip.

Before Dean's knees had the chance to buckle, he pulled off, smirking at the petulant whine. He slid back on the seat and turned, facing front. He nudged Dean until he leaned down and crawled onto the seat, awkward with his arms still restrained. He thought about uncuffing him, but Dean didn't seem to be bothered by it, and he had to admit it was fucking hot.

He helped Dean straddle his hips, leaning back on his knees as he looked down at Cas with warm green eyes.

Cas pulled him down and claimed those lips in a long, slow kiss. The moment felt weighted down with some emotion neither of them were willing to voice. His hands stroked down Dean's arms, down his sides, cupped his pert cheeks in the palms of his hands and squeezed gently, parting them to run his fingers down the hot cleft. Dean moaned sweetly into his mouth when a fingertip brushed over his hole.

Dean pressed backwards with his hips and Cas' breath stuttered out of him when the finger slid inside with barely any resistance. He resolutely refused to think about anyone else Dean may have been with tonight. He was with Cas _now_ , and that was what mattered.

He tugged the condom off of Dean and tossed it to the floorboards. He wanted Dean bare in his hands, if he couldn't have him in his mouth. He stroked Dean slowly, not enough to get him off, but enough to drive him a little crazy as Cas slid one finger after another inside, stretching Dean with care as if he wasn't already wet and loose. He brushed carefully against Dean's prostate, feeling himself throb, not able to get enough of the way Dean's expression tensed and slackened with each new sensation.

When Dean started rocking back faster onto his fingers, he pulled them out and away, ripping open his own condom and slicking himself with the contents of the little tube. Hands on Dean's hips he guided him closer and up onto his knees, the head of his cock sliding between Dean's cheeks.

Cas lined himself up with one hand, the other cupping Dean's chin to hold his eyes, he pushed up as Dean pushed down and they both groaned as he sank into tight, smooth heat. Dean gasped a breath, as he thrust upwards again, both hands coming to rest on Dean's hips, pulling him down slow and steady onto him, his cock hitting deep inside on each thrust.

Minutes passed, sweet and heated, neither of them breaking the eye contact, Dean squeezing around him every so often to send a jolt of need through him.

Dean began moving faster against him, his ass smacking down against Cas' thighs, and his soft moans deepend, grew needier with each up and down movement of his hips in Cas' lap. He angled his own hips, searching out that spot, and after a moment, Dean whimpered, his head falling forward onto Cas' shoulder, the thick leather straps of his holster pressing into Dean's face.

He kept the angle, but increased his pace, his thrusts faster and harder the louder Dean got. He was pounding into Dean feeling lips against his throat, hot breath sliding beneath his collar. He was hitting his stride, blissed out beyond belief when he felt something tugging on his holster. Looking down, he had to clench his thighs together and hold Dean still so he wouldn't blow then and there.

Dean was _biting_ the strap of his holster. Fucking biting it, teeth clamped down around it like a bit.

“Jesus fuck, Dean.” He breathed.

He nearly yelped when Dean rocked back on him, fucking himself on Cas' cock, hanging onto his fucking holster by his teeth. He ran his hands through his hair, tugging on it, trying to push back his impending brain-melting orgasm with the slight pain.

Oh, God. It was too fucking much.

He yanked Dean's head up and crashed their mouths together, eating the moans from his lips as he fucked up hard. Dean threw his head back and screamed as Cas' cock smashed into his prostate with brutal accuracy.

He looked down at him, eyes wild, frantic with need. “Cas! Oh fuck, please Cas, let me touch you. Take the cuffs off! Please!”

Somehow managing to focus enough to dig the cuff keys out of his pocket with Dean riding him like a demon, he had to beg Dean to stop long enough to actually get the fucking things unlocked. Dean threw the cuffs to the floor and with his hands free, reached forward, wrapped both hands around his holster straps and held on for dear life as he fucked himself, fucked Cas', with utter awe-inspiring abandon.

His head was thrown back, mouth open wide, eyes rolled back into his skull and he slammed down over and over again until Cas was sure he'd have fucking bruises on his thighs tomorrow. A low keening wound out of Dean's chest, punctuated only by the hitching breaths the power of his downthrusts punching the air out of his lungs. Cas raked his nails down Dean's back and felt the pleasure tighten in his gut, and he knew it was any fucking minute now.

He dug his fingers into Dean's hips, and his head snapped forward, eyes all pupil dark but clear, so fucking clear Cas felt like he could see all the way to the bottom of Dean's star-bright soul.

With a guttural cry, their eyes locked together, he came hard, nearly blacking out when Dean clenched around him and spilled himself between their shirted stomachs with a howl. Dean collapsed forward onto him, and Cas wrapped his arms tight around Dean's back, clutching the heaving body to him like it would be snatched away from him if he didn't hold onto it with everything he had.

Dean's arms were wound around his neck, shuddery breaths gusted against his sweaty skin and he stroked a hand through Dean's hair, soothing until his twitching subsided and Dean's breaths evened out.

How long they sat there, Cas didn't know, but by the time he felt himself slip from Dean's body, the boy in his arms was dead asleep. He chuckled and gently kissed the temple next to his lips, nosing into the damp hair, breathing in the scent of Dean, memorizing it.

He chanced a look at his watch, blanching at the time. He knew Dean would want to be home to check on his brother, but there was no way Cas could stand to wake him when he was so peaceful, the sated smile on his face worth its weight in gold.

\- -

Half an hour later, he'd cleaned Dean up as best he could, redressed him and laid him out on the back seat of the car.

He slid on his own jacket, the fabric cold from the few hours it had spent on the roof of the car, and called into the station, letting them know he would be taking the car home and bringing it back in the morning.

Starting the car as quietly as possible, he drove through the sleepy pre-dawn streets of South Boston, and took Dean home.

 

 

 


	5. Gluttony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas indulges. Cas indulges a _lot_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I recommend reading the latest chapter of [Not Without Virtue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/955373/chapters/2753611) first, but I've tried to make Vices as standalone as possible. As far as Cas is concerned, his story, there is no pertinent information that isn't included in this chapter of Vices, but he does say something that he will not remember saying, just FYI.
> 
>  **warning** for: gun violence, some hangover/sick H/C, significant time jump, food kink/sex, possessive behavior

 

 **glut-tony** _n._ 1\. excess in eating or drinking. 2. greedy or excessive indulgence.

 

_The warm weight of another body at his back was a reassuring anchor. Dean hadn't run screaming, that was promising, right? But he couldn't take whatever look of pity or concern that might be filling those green eyes right now. An arm wrapped itself around his waist, a solid comfort and soft breath feathered the hair at his nape._

 

_His head felt like it had been wrapped in a blanket. So fuzzy. Sleep lapped at the Scotch-soaked edges of his brain. He opened his mouth to tell Dean how much it meant to him that he was there, but didn't trust the words to come out right. He'd just fuck it up._

 

_God, he fucked everything up. He hadn't even been able to pull off a routine Narc raid without someone ending up dead._

 

_A kid was dead._

 

_His mind blanked out pleasantly when lips kissed his neck tenderly, derailing his thoughts. Dean spoke then, a quiet whisper that made Cas' chest tight with everything he couldn't afford to verbalize. “You're a good man, Cas. Better than I'll ever be.” A lump formed in his throat. “I know you don't believe it, but you've saved people. Made the streets safer the best way you could.” He heard Dean take a breath, and he almost turned to take that sweet boy in his arms and kiss him and love him senseless, the way he deserved. “And I lo-” Cas froze. Had Dean almost said...?_

 

_He intentionally slowed his breathing, evened it out. He was afraid the snore was too much when Dean was quiet for a long, painful moment. Then Dean's head thudded softly against his neck with a sigh._

 

“ _I love you, Cas. God help me, but I do.”_

 

_His heart exploded. He experienced joy like he'd never known before for a precious handful of seconds before sleep sucked him under._

 

\- - -

 

Cas woke hard with a groan, his body feeling like it'd gone through a meat grinder. The pale light of dawn creeping in through the windows was too bright and he burrowed his face deeper into the pillow to get away from it. His usually slightly scratchy pillowcase felt like silky heaven against his stubbled cheek and he rubbed himself against it like a cat before reality struck him.

 

He cracked open an eye and took in unfamiliar surroundings. He sat up too fast for his pounding head and struggled to keep himself still enough to let the feeling fade again. Opening his eyes cautiously he saw that he was in a large bed, not unlike his own, but covered in luxurious cream satin sheets.

 

Where the hell was he?

 

A sudden rattle and hum from somewhere in the room had him groping at his hip for his gun and encountered only the fabric of his boxers.

 

Two more questions. Why the hell was he practically naked, and where the hell was his gun?

 

Just then the memories of the night before came rushing back so swiftly that he was forced to clutch at his stomach against the sour wave of nausea and bile coating the back of his throat.

 

_The night air was cool against his exposed skin as he pulled off his hopelessly creased button-down in order to strap the Kevlar on. They don't expect any one of the perps to be stupid enough to pull a gun in the middle of a raid. Most of these guys have been in the game so long they know how it goes. They know going down for killing a cop gets you locked away longer than a possession charge. All the same, they follow protocol._

 

_Uriel is quiet beside him as he adjusts the fit of his own vest, not even one joke cracked. Cas looks at him out of the corner of his eye. He wonders if he really knows his partner as well as he thought he had, if he ever really knew him at all. Everything is so fucking screwed up lately._

 

_They take the house. Quick. Efficient. Most of the drugs are there, whatever hadn't been able to be flushed in the five or so minutes that it had taken to bust the door in with the compact steel battering ram. The dealers and their cronies had given up without much of a fight, not that they'd really been expecting one._

 

_It was good to be right about something for once._

 

_While the uniforms were holding the dealers in the main room, he and Uriel began searching the other rooms, you never knew what you'd find, didn't hurt to look._

 

_In the middle of a long hallway at the top of the stairs, he broke off from Uriel with a nod and went the opposite direction. He hugged the wall like he'd been taught so long ago, going down to one knee to the side of the first of the two closed doors on his half of the hallway. He heard Uriel pushing doors open carefully, his bark of “Clear!” sounding seconds later. He pushed the door beside him open just as carefully, making sure it was pushed flat to the wall inside the room, leaving no potential hiding space behind it. He breathed out and poked his head around the corner, sweeping every corner._

 

“ _Clear!”_

 

_He got to his feet and slid down the wall to the last door, following the steps to the letter. The door opened on a bedroom, from the look of it a teenager's bedroom if the schoolbooks piled on the desk and the sports and girlie posters on the wall meant anything._

 

_He was ready to get this fucking night over with so he could go the Roadhouse, knock back a few and see if Dean showed up. He'd been known to use it to find johns, a fact Cas was intimately aware of. He hated that despite what he felt for Dean, the boy still had to make his living that way. He knew finding a legitimate job would be nearly impossible with his record._

 

_Maybe he should have expected it, but despite his years on the job, Cas was entirely taken by surprise when the kid stepped out from the closet with a gun in his shaking hand, leveled at Cas' face. The kid didn't know how to hold a gun the right way, had it turned to the side, butt facing out like the 'bangers in the movies did._

 

_But that absolutely did not mean that if he pulled the trigger he wouldn't hit his target._

 

_Cas' own gun was held in a loose two-handed grip at his side where he'd relaxed his stance after he'd cleared the room._

 

_Fuck, he was so stupid._

 

_He heard Uriel calling for him from the other end of the hall and the kid started, panic flashed through big brown eyes he tried manfully to keep cold and hard. This kid wasn't a killer, but he was trying damn hard to pretend to be._

 

_Cas raised his gun slowly, niiice and slow. “You know you don't wanna do that, son.” Keep calm, and keep the kid calm, and maybe they'd both make it out of this fuckfest alive. “I'm gonna need you to put that piece down and put your hands behind your head. Don't throw your life away on this, kid.”_

 

“ _Cas!” Uriel shouted and the kid jumped._

 

“ _I got this, partner. Just be calm. Everyone. Be calm.” He kept his voice as steady as his pounding heart wasn't._

 

_He heard footsteps starting to thunder up the stairs and fought not to squeeze his eyes shut in frustration._

 

“ _Put the gun down, now, and we can all walk outta here. C'mon.” He didn't know how else to appeal to the kid._

 

_Uniforms spilled into the hallway behind him and the kid's finger twitched on the trigger._

 

_Cas couldn't see anything beyond the sight of it, and training kicked in. In a split second he'd sighted, aimed, and pulled his own trigger. The shot took the kid right in his core, throwing him backward and he stumbled, wide-eyed, going down hard._

 

_Uriel grabbed him back and three uniforms pushed past him into the room, using their radios to call for a bus* as they kicked the gun out of the kid's hand before Cas lost sight of him behind black-shirted backs._

 

Cas ran for the bathroom when the memory replayed like fast-forward video. His stomach emptied over the bowl and he clung to the cool porcelain and shook. When there was nothing left, he wiped his mouth with his forearm and slumped back against the wall, head against his knees.

 

The rest of the night had been a blur. Debriefing with Turner and the brass, surrendering his gun until IAB* investigated the shooting. He couldn't have gotten it away from himself fast enough. Every time he looked at the thing he saw brown eyes shocked, disbelieving.

 

He'd seen the kid again when the paramedics arrived, clearing the room so they could work. Jesus, but he'd looked like he was asleep. Face slack and peaceful. It wasn't fucking fair.

 

Alfie had looked the same way. Of course the guy who'd shot his brother hadn't had the training Cas'd had, and he hadn't stopped at one shot. But despite the blood pooling sticky on the hot sidewalk, Alfie's face had been miraculously clean. Dark gold eyelashes rested against cheeks still rounded and soft with baby fat like a sleeping angel.

 

Gabriel had been busy making a jackass of himself with their contact with Cas keeping watch and trying to keep his brother on task. He'd only turned back around to roll his eyes at Gabriel for a minute when the contact spooked at something behind them and pulled out a gun both he and Gabriel had been too cocky to search for.

 

It had been over so fast. One blink of an eye, maybe two, and Cas was on his knees frantic beside Alfie's limp body.

 

His brain had been on a repeat loop of lifeless bodies and young faces the entire time he'd been at the station. The second they'd let him leave, he'd bypassed the Roadhouse altogether and headed for the nearest package store*, and had then proceeded to drink whatever he laid eyes on.

 

Which apparently....had led him...here.

 

He was obviously in a hotel, but which one he didn't know.

 

He vaguely remembered calling the number of the escort service Dean worked for and probably had shouted out his demand for the boy. Why they'd let him was beyond him, but it probably had something to do with the credit card in his wallet, which was likely maxed out now.

 

He'd stumbled into the hotel, somehow managed not to pass out in the elevator, and ended up in the room.

 

In Dean's arms.

 

Dean's voice in his ear.

 

Sweet and low and saying that he loved-

 

Where _was_ Dean anyway?

 

He hadn't seen a sign of him in the room during his mad dash to the bathroom. He sighed, scrubbing his hands over his face. What did he expect, really?

 

Chances were, Dean had regretted what he'd said (Cas was hoping he hadn't dreamed it up all together) and bolted the minute Cas had passed out. The bed had been cold when he'd woken up, so it added up to that being the simplest answer.

 

He should probably get dressed. God knows how much they were charging him for this room.

 

He'd just sit and get his shit together for a minute. Yeah.

 

Twenty minutes later he startled awake at the sound of the door opening and closing with a snick. A papery rustle. A hesitant voice calling his name.

 

“Cas?” Apparently Dean had come back...from...somewhere. A muttered curse came from the outer room. “Fuck fuck fuck. So fucking stupid, Dean. Tell a guy you love him when he's half asleep and he runs off the second you leave. Idiot!”

 

Cas choked on a surprised laugh and the sounds of movement silenced.

 

“Cas?” Dean sounded just a little bit terrified.

 

He took a breath. “In the bathroom.”

 

Dean's head poked around the doorway, a very becoming pink flush on the apples of his cheeks, a sheepish expression on his face. “Any chance you didn't just hear all that?”

 

Cas smiled. “'Fraid not.”

 

Dean's shoulders sagged and Cas felt like an enormous asshole.

 

One who smelled like sour puke.

 

Lovely.

 

He got his feet under him and tried to lever himself up to stand, hoping to find some complementary toothpaste or something at the vanity. Before he could get more than a step, his stomach lurched and his head spun.

 

And then there were arms around him. Again.

 

He grimaced up at Dean. “We gotta stop meeting like this.”

 

A small smile quirked Dean's lips. “Agreed. Let's get you fixed up, you fuckin' lush. What did you do last night anyway before you came here?” Dean asked as he lowered him to the closed lid of the toilet and pushed his head down between his knees.

 

Cas looked up with a groan. “I found a packy.”

 

Dean cocked his head to the side. “And?”

 

He put his aching head in his hands. “And I drank it.”

 

He tried to pretend Dean's laugh was awful and grating, but it was mostly the second best thing he'd ever heard.

 

The first of which being-

 

He looked up and found Dean gone again. He frowned and considered getting up when Dean came bustling back into the bathroom with a water bottle and a little paper packet of aspirin. He ripped the package open and held out his hand with the pills. Cas picked them up and swallowed them with the water Dean cracked open.

 

That taken care of Dean moved away, toward the shower. He twisted the knob and the sound of water hitting the shower floor filled the room. Cas watched, wondering how to bring up what he wanted to know. He wanted to ask Dean if he meant what he'd said, if he regretted it, what it meant for them, what it meant for everything. But his mouth was dry.

He sipped at the water while Dean rummaged around at the vanity with an air of familiarity that put Cas on edge. Of course Dean would be familiar with these rooms. His mood sunk like a lead balloon and when Dean turned back to him with a toothbrush and toothpaste, he froze at his black look.

 

“Cas? Hey. You wanna brush your teeth and get in the shower? Might make you feel better?” Dean was a natural at taking care of people apparently. Well, he'd pretty much raised a younger brother, it made sense. When Cas didn't move, Dean's expression turned uncertain and he laid the things in his hands down on the counter before crossing to kneel down in front of him. He laid hesitant hands on Cas' knees and spoke to his chest.

 

“I...look. I want to kiss you, but I'm not really into the hardcore hangover breath you've got going on.” He watched Dean bite his lip and flush and he melted. He slid his own hands up to cup Dean's face and raised it to look into those eyes. Dean's eyes flicked between his eyes and his lips, a hopeful-nervous look on his face. Cas leaned in and was about to take Dean's mouth in a kiss when fingers situated themselves between his lips and Dean's.

 

Dean laughed, breathy, and shook his head. Cas rolled his eyes, muttered a “Fine” and let Dean hoist him up with an arm behind his back to stand in front of the sink. He daubed some toothpaste on the bristles and got to brushing, keeping his eyes on Dean's in the mirror where he stood behind him, just visible over his shoulder. The look in those eyes was wicked, Dean's hands roved over his bare back, slow, around to his chest and thumbed over his nipples with a little flick. He glared without much heat at those hands and continued to brush out his mouth as the hands wandered yet again, tracing over the ridges of muscle and playing with the trail of hair that led down to his rapidly tenting boxers. He groaned when Dean skipped around his cock entirely. Little fucking tease.

 

He spit his mouthful of minty foam and rinsed quickly, nearly choking when Dean squeezed his cock without warning. With speed and agility he didn't think he possessed while this hungover, he had Dean pinned against the tiled wall next to the now steaming shower. Dean grinned at him and bit his lip again, gasping when Cas ground his hips into him.

 

Without taking his eyes from Dean's, he unbuttoned his plaid shirt and stripped it off his shoulders. Dean reached for his own fly, shoving them down his legs as Cas tugged the t-shirt off. Dean was bare underneath and in seconds divested Cas of his own underwear. Cas pulled him close with his hands on his ass, and Dean's arms wrapped around his neck. They moved together so smooth, like they'd been doing it forever, and their lips met, parted and sucked at each other's tongues hungrily.

 

He pushed Dean back into the wall and broke the kiss. He stroked himself against Dean and loved the way Dean's eyes darkened and glazed over as he looked down at him.

 

“Where did you go?” He asked before he could stop himself.

 

“Huh? Go?” Dean was already unfocused and moving in to kiss him again, and fuck did that do wonderful, flippy things to Cas' insides. He gave Dean his kiss before pulling back again.

 

“You left. Not sure when. Where did you go?”

 

Dean shook his head a little, and his eyes were a touch clearer when they found his again. “Oh. Yeah. I went home quick to check on Sammy and made sure he was up for school. Then I stopped and got coffee and my patented hangover cure.” His playful smirk made Cas have to ask.

“Which is?” Dean grinned. Fuck, naughty looked so good on that face.

 

“A greasy pork sandwich served on a dirty ash tray.” He deadpanned.

 

Cas gagged a little and Dean's gorgeous laugh filled the room before he kissed him hard, lips softening in the middle of it, dragging it out until Cas was sliding his hand into his hair and nuzzling at his jaw.

 

“You didn't really bring that, did you?” He asked hopefully.

 

Dean laughed again, a huff of air against his ear that made him shiver in the humid little bathroom. He felt Dean shake his head. “Nah. Brought you some doughnuts. Cops dig those right?”

 

Cas snorted and nipped at Dean's ear until he whined. With a final lick, he stepped away and took Dean's hand, backing toward the shower, feeling the warmth of the room and Dean's eyes heat his blood until it pounded. Dean licked his lips and followed him in until they were both standing underneath the hot spray.

 

\- - -

 

**-one month later-**

 

The first day of November dawned bright and chilly and Cas was loathe to crawl out from under sheets and blankets warmed by two bodies.

 

Well, one right now.

 

From the smell wafting in from the kitchen that had seen more and more use as the past month had gone by, his delicious, wandering bedmate had wandered out to cook up something equally delicious. He only hoped there'd be enough syrup for the pancakes this time.

 

Cas had never had much of a sweet tooth, more of a whiskey, bourbon, and Scotch tooth, but since Dean had become more a regular presence in his life instead of an irregular tryst in illicit places, he'd taken to drinking significantly less and eating quite a bit more. Could he help it if everything Dean made was irresistible when it could be eaten off of miles of smooth, creamy skin?

 

The day after Cas had shown up in that hotel room, where they'd spent a good hour enjoying the hotel's endless hot water supply, they'd gone back to Cas' apartment and fucked until both of their stomachs had growled hard enough they couldn't ignore them.

 

Dean had been appalled at the emptiness of Cas' fridge and cupboards. Cas had suggested going to the supermarket, and Dean had agreed eagerly before his face fell. Cas knew that Dean was afraid for them to be seen together in public, and frankly, it hadn't even crossed Cas' mind until then. Not wanting to push Dean too far too fast, he'd asked Dean what he'd like to make, and offered to go to the store himself. Dean had perked up, but part of him was still shuttered away. Cas had been determined to slowly chip away at that. He wasn't ashamed of Dean.

 

Dean turned out to be an excellent fucking cook, and for the first time in probably ten years, not counting the occasional dinner at Gabe's, he had home-cooked meals at least three nights a week, and his fridge and freezer were full of leftovers and easy to heat up meals.

After the shooting during the raid, Cas had been put on administrative leave for a week, and then he'd been parked at a desk ever since. IAB was ready to clear him, but the fucking department shrink wouldn't sign off on it until he made an appointment. Fuck. The last thing he needed was to talk to some douchebag who thought he was traumatized.

 

He wasn't. Sure he had nightmares sometimes, but didn't every cop?

 

Dean still worked the escort job, occasionally picked up some johns on the street if money was tight, and Cas did whatever he could to ignore it, and just be grateful that he was the one Dean wanted to be with, the one he came home to three nights a week, the one he made love to.

 

Of course, Dean hadn't said it again, but he knew that's what this was. Dean was probably just afraid of putting himself out there again, as if Cas would reject him now, after everything. He was trying to work up the nerve himself to say it, but he didn't want to do it out of nowhere and scare Dean off.

 

The sound of off-key singing came from the kitchen, and he grinned, could  picture Dean standing in front of the stove, singing to himself and swaying those hips to whatever beat was in his head as he cooked. He wondered if Dean had gotten fully dressed or just slipped into the pair of Cas' BPD sweatpants that he'd claimed as his own. Cas fucking loved the way Dean looked in them, and he threw the covers off of his body so that he could pad out to the kitchen and wrap his arms around him.

 

They might even get to breakfast this time. Despite his initial reservations, Cas' spindly kitchen table had held up surprisingly well against repeated rounds of fucking.

 

Images of the last time flooded his brain and his cock was half-hard when he pulled his boxers on. He pressed the heel of his palm against it and enjoyed the brief pressure before he made his way toward the door.

 

Before the door had creaked open the whole way, Dean's voice scolded. “You get your ass back in that fucking bed, detective. I'm bringing you breakfast in bed, and I intend for you to eat it in _bed_.”

 

Cas laughed and watched Dean for a minute from the doorway, surely sweatpants weren't supposed to hang so obscenely off of a persons hips and ass. Cas groaned and Dean turned to look at him with a knowing smirk. “Bed.”

 

Cas pouted, but went back into the room, dropping his boxers on the floor and crawling back into bed. He thought about stroking his much more awake cock until Dean came back, but God knew what the boy had planned.

 

Cas crossed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling.

 

It had been a little over a month since he'd gone to Charlie Bradbury about his problem with Uriel. Since then, they'd had minimal contact, nothing traceable, pretty much all to say she hadn't found anything yet, but that didn't mean there wasn't anything there. Some people could hide things incredibly well, and given the fact that Uriel had worked undercover for most of the later years of his career, he was naturally very good at keeping things hidden. He was starting to get itchy though, for some kind of information. It was exhausting keeping an eye on the one person he was supposed to trust with his life.

 

He had worked himself up to a truly fearsome frown when Dean shoved the door open with a hip, an overflowing tray held in his hands. Dean scowled. “Well, that just won't fucking do.” He pushed into the room and laid the tray on the floor next to the bed before climbing up onto it, and on top of Cas. “Won't do at fucking all.” He dropped a filthy kiss to Cas' mouth, until Cas slid his hands down the back of Dean's sweatpants to palm his ass and grind them together. Dean pulled back. “No one should look that grumpy when they're being delivered breakfast and sex.” He tsked.

 

Cas was most definitely not grumpy now. Hell, he could barely remember what had gotten him in such a mood in the first place. The hot little body straddling his hips demanded all of his attention, and he gave it.

 

With a grin he grabbed hold of Dean's knees and deftly rolled them until Dean was on his back with his legs wrapped around Cas' waist. Of all the places they'd fucked, Cas' bed was by far the favorite. It felt like he was sharing a piece of himself he'd never thought to give before. He loved waking up to Dean beside him, loved that his sheets and pillows smelled like him, a soft, clean, entirely unique-to-Dean scent that he couldn't get enough of.

 

He buried his face into the crook of Dean's neck and inhaled deep, making Dean laugh and wriggle under him. Of course his cock took notice then, and he rocked his hips tightly, feeling his cock rub against the worn fabric of the sweats. He pushed up onto his knees and yanked the pants off, knowing how much Dean loved it when he got a little manhandling.

 

Right on cue, Dean's eyes darkened, and his legs spread wide once they'd been freed. Cas stared down at the feast of senses before him and wondered if at his next confession he should admit to what a glutton for this flesh he'd become. He could not get enough, could not stop, never wanted to stop.

 

Cas moved to press his body against Dean's again when he remembered the breakfast Dean had brought. He rolled and peered over the edge of the bed, mouth watering when he saw fat slices of buttery, powdered-sugary french toast, the ridiculous little syrup pourer Dean had insisted he buy, and a bowl of strawberries covered in whipped cream. Looking over his shoulder he raised an eyebrow at Dean and laughed full-throated when he blushed.

 

Cas snatched up the plate of french toast and passed it to Dean, along with the syrup and on second thought, grabbed the strawberries as well.

 

Dean was watching him with a hungry gleam in his eye and he thrilled knowing that look wasn't meant for the food.

 

Cas plucked a strawberry from the bowl and dragged the tip of it over Dean's smooth chest to circle one taut little nipple. Dean groaned at the sensation of the cool cream, the slightly rough texture of the seeded berry against his skin. Cas raised the fruit up to Dean's mouth and watched his lips close around the end of it, biting it off, red juice dripping down his chin. Cas chased the trail of juice and licked the flavor out of Dean's mouth. When he broke the kiss, Dean was breathless, and he gasped when Cas circled the strawberry around his other nipple, smearing the juice over the hard nub.

 

One at a time, Cas sucked cream and strawberry juice from Dean's nipples until he was writhing, begging.

 

Next Cas took up the syrup pourer and drizzled a line of it down the center of Dean's chest, down to let it pool in his belly button. He leaned down and stuck his tongue in the little puddle of sweetness and Dean laughed. Cas watched the syrup warm on Dean's skin and spread out slowly before he reached to tear a chunk off of one slice. Using his fingers, he sopped up the sticky trail with the bread, smearing flecks of powdered sugar into the residue of the syrup. When he'd gotten as much syrup up with the french toast, so much that it dripped in fat drops, he traced the contours of Dean's lips until he opened them. Dean groaned around his bite and Cas swallowed the sound when his mouth found Dean's, the kiss as rich and satisfying as the breakfast they most certainly weren't going to finish.

 

They kissed and rocked together until both Dean and Cas' chests were sticky with syrup and sugar. Dean was whimpering just slightly, clearly ready for the foreplay to turn into something more. Cas was more than willing to oblige. He rose to his knees and reached over Dean's body to the nightstand where his stash of condoms and lube lived. He snagged the nearly empty bottle and a condom, but paused in his journey back between Dean's thighs, when a hot, wet tongue slid up the middle of his chest where it hovered over Dean's face. Dean lapped up the syrup, making happy little sounds, and then detoured to Cas' nipples, and his hips bucked in the air.

 

Dean's hand wrapped around him, and he threw his head back. He looked down at his lover and the look on his face alone was enough to make him want to come then and there. He stole a kiss while he hitched Dean's legs up to his chest and slicked his fingers.

 

Dean's eyes closed with a sigh of pleasure as Cas slipped his fingers inside one at a time. How Dean managed to fuck on a near constant basis and still feel pleasantly tight around fingers or cock, Cas didn't know. He'd had Dean all to himself last night, all night, but that first time of the night, Cas had savored it. Being the first to push into Dean's body, no one had come before him, it was one of the things he looked forward to more and more often. It was his own personal claim on Dean. Sometimes he liked to fuck Dean so hard he felt it all the next day, and a growing part of Cas loved knowing that Dean had a physical reminder of him when he went to work.

 

Dean was moaning, panting. “Cas, please baby. Want you inside me so bad.” Cas' lip curled up at the pretty pleading and stroked his fingertips across Dean's sensitive prostate, making his back arch up and his ass shove down on Cas' hand. “Fuck, Cas!”

 

Cas took pity on him and pulled his fingers out slowly, wrapping his wet hand around his own cock and stroking firmly. It was the closest he could get to feeling Dean's ass around his cock bare, and he craved it. Despite Dean getting tested regularly, and how incredibly careful he was with using condoms, he refused to risk anything. Cas could only hope one day there would be nothing between them but their skin and their love.

 

Tearing open the condom, he rolled it over his cock, feeling himself throb hard. He lined himself up with Dean's twitching hole and pushed in, groaning as heat and pressure enveloped him. Dean's legs tightened around his back, heels resting on the top of his ass, and Cas slowly pulled himself out and thrust back in, that long, slow slide, a hard push at the end to bottom out and hear Dean's throaty cry each time. By the fourth excruciatingly slow thrust, Dean's cries were frantic, needing badly to come.

 

He pulled back until only the head of his cock was left inside that greedy, grasping body. He looked down at Dean and smirked. Dean's breathing shallowed, chest heaving. Fuck, this was his favorite part. Making Dean wait for the fast, hard thrust, the quick, filthy pounding he was about to receive.

 

Dean tensed and whined. At the peak of the whine, Cas shoved inside and Dean screamed. Cas gave no time for him to recover, instead began fucking into him like a man possessed. Thrusts so forceful the smack of their skin together echoed off of the walls. Dean was incoherent, fingers clenched white in the bedsheets, and Cas could feel his toes curling up against his ass where he was barely holding on with his legs.

 

In a sudden move, Cas sat back on his heels, legs spread, and used his hands under the small of Dean's back to haul his lower body up into his lap. He fucked as hard as he possibly could, and Dean's eyes rolled back into his head when the new angle caught his prostate both thrusting in and pulling out.

 

He tightened his fingers on Dean, knowing he'd be leaving marks and not caring, he gritted his teeth and thrust a half a dozen more times before he shouted out his brutal climax and emptied himself inside of Dean's clenching, shuddering body. Dean threw his head back with a broken “Fuck!” and spasmed around Cas, covering his own stomach with come.

 

Like a puppet with cut strings, Dean went limp, boneless, a picture of decadence sprawled out on his sheets. Cas rolled over his flopped out thigh and hit the mattress with a satisfied groan. Dean made a soft sound and curled up against his side, mindless of the cooling come on his skin. He tilted Dean's face up and kissed him, enjoying the lingering flavors of strawberry, butter, and sugar. The kiss lasted until Dean's head dropped heavily to his shoulder and he threw one leg over Cas', snuggling in tight.

 

Cas grinned. He hoped he'd convince Dean to do breakfast in bed more often, though by the way his stomach growled, maybe they should make sure to actually eat some of it before they got naked.

 

He let Dean lay until the come and the sugar on their skin was well on its way to uncomfortably dry. He slid out of bed and padded to the bathroom to grab a wet washcloth. He cleaned Dean up and swiped his own sticky skin and pulled on his boxers, tugging the blankets up over Dean and went in search of hot coffee.

 

He snagged his phone on his way out of the room and was huddled around a steaming cup of strong black coffee when his phone went off.

 

He thought about ignoring Balthazar's call, certain his friend was about to rib him again about whatever mysterious young man was in his life, but he was in a good mood and decided to take it. “Hey Bal, what's up?”

 

“My don't we sound chipper this morning. Did someone have a good breakfast?” Balthazar's leer was a verbal thing. Cas laughed, keeping his voice low so as to not wake Dean.

 

“In fact, I did. Jealous?” He quipped.

 

Balthazar sighed. “Horribly, darling. But alas, I'm calling on some unfortunate business.” Cas waited for him to continue. “As I'm sure you're aware, last night was Halloween. Always an entertaining night for us, yes? Well, this morning a body was discovered, courtesy of our dear friend Alastair.”

 

Cas sucked in his breath. It was one of his greatest nightmares lately. Dean was still out there on the streets, where this monster lurked, and it made him panic on the nights when Dean didn't call him to let him know he'd arrived home.

 

“Where?” He hoped his voice wasn't shaky. Fuck. His hands were shaking.

 

“By the river. Didn't even try to hide her. Fucking bastard is playing us, and he's just a fucking ghost in the wind.” Balthazar's voice was tight with frustration. They'd been chasing Alastair for a long time already, and apparently now he was stepping up to murder. That kind of escalation got ugly, real fast.

 

But- “So what do you need me for? You know I'm riding the desk until Dr. Richings signs off on my file.”

 

Balthazar hesitated. “The girl that was killed, she was one of Dean Winchester's known associates. I'd like him to come down the the station and maybe he can give us some information about where or how she'd been taken, maybe give us a clue as the what kind of patterns this bastard is running in.”

 

Cas started. “What makes you think I know where De- Winchester is?” He glanced over his shoulder at the cracked bedroom door. What the hell was Balthazar suggesting? Dean would hate it if he knew someone Cas worked with suspected something was between them.

 

Balthazar laughed. “No particular reason, love. Only that you don't smell like a distillery anymore, and I swear I even saw you smile at the front desk girl, Tracy. I think you terrified her. Also, Dean hasn't been brought in on one single arrest since September, and I know for a fact he used to let himself get caught half the time so he could see Jody and Vic and have a hot meal. I've no proof, but I am a detective ducks.” Cas could hear the smirk, and swallowed.

 

“Well...” He coughed. “I'll definitely keep an eye out. If...if I see him, I'll let him know to come by the station.” He scratched a hand over his stomach, tried to pretend he was just hungry instead of his insides tying up in knots.

 

“You be sure to do that. See you tomorrow darling, and enjoy your day off. Ta.” Balthazar hung up and Cas dropped the phone to the counter, heaving a sigh.

 

He'd shower, let Dean sleep a bit, and then let him know what Balthazar had said.

 

Or maybe, he'd go back to bed _with_ Dean, then they could shower together with all that entailed, fuck until they were exhausted and Dean had to go home to get ready for work, and then maybe he might bring it up when Dean was too blissed out to remember.

 

Yeah.

 

That sounded like a plan.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terms  
> *bus: ambulance  
> *package store/ packy: liquor stores in MA  
> *IAB: Internal Affairs Bureau


	6. Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man full of pride has two choices: He can swallow it, or he can choke on it.

 

**pride** _n._ /prid/ 1. the quality or state of being proud. 2. proud or disdainful behavior or treatment.

  
  


Cas had never really thought of himself as a proud man, not in so many words. He's had his moments, sure, same as anyone.

He should have remembered Joshua sitting him down as an angry young man barely old enough to make his own decisions and giving him the rundown on the Church's list of What Not To Do, the Big Seven, the Deadliest of Sins.

He should have remembered when the old priest had cautioned him not to let himself become prideful. Because a man full of pride has two choices: He can swallow it, or he can choke on it.

\- - -

  
  


**-thirty-six hours earlier-**

The afternoon was dragging painfully, each hour, each minute scraping along the edge of Cas' sanity.

He'd sat at his desk since early that morning, pushing around the endless stream of paperwork that he'd never noticed this keenly when he'd had field work to keep his mind occupied. Now it was just words, heaps of them, twisting in front of his eyes, winding through his brain, sounding in his ears whenever he closed his eyes in frustration.

He was certain he was on the precipice of a spectacular nervous breakdown, and part of him just wanted to chase it, to have done with it and pick himself up off of the dusty bottom he'd been heading toward for so long he couldn't clearly pinpoint the moment he'd started falling.

His partner had waltzed in around ten in the morning, as carefree and easy-mannered as the man could achieve with his disposition, good-naturedly ribbing Cas for being a pussy and not going to see Richings so he could get back out there. He knew it was only a matter of time before Turner would be giving him the choice to have his head shrunk or to pack his shit and go back to a uniform beat.

Cas wondered if that wouldn't be the better way. He could go back across town, where he wasn't constantly seeing traitors and ulterior motives around every corner. He could just do his fuckin' job, and go home at night without a head full of worries and fall asleep without drinking himself into unconsciousness.

He was such a fucking coward.

But he'd been a coward for months now. This last month especially, with Dean in his bed, inside his skin so far he couldn't go long without thoughts of him popping up.

It was hardest to deal with there, at the station. He saw young men and women come and go that no matter what they looked like, he saw Dean in them. Saw what he tried so hard to pretend didn't exist because Dean was his now.

But he wasn't. Not really.

Dean still had to work, wouldn't take a cent of Cas' money for anything except the food he bought for his own house. He still had to smile and flirt men who saw him only as a mouth or a hole for them to use and Cas would have to work to smooth out that hollow-eyed look on Dean's face every time he saw him after he'd had to go out. Hold him and touch him with care that few bothered to take, gather him close when tears heavy with the weight of their combined unsaid words fell while they made love, tell him with hands and body that he was safe, safe with Cas.

Despite all of that, Dean held something back. Cas could see it in him each time Dean left, each time Cas dropped him off somewhere. If only he knew what it was, what Dean wanted, needed of him. He'd give it. He'd give everything.

The second reason for his impending anxiety attack was that Dean was expected at the station any minute now.

He'd finally gotten his balls under him and told Dean as vaguely as he could that a fellow detective from the station had called to relay the news about the body they'd found, and that they were looking for anyone to come in and provide whatever information they could.

Dean had barely reacted, and it tore something inside of him when he realized that girls going missing, girls turning up dead, were normal things in Dean's world. He'd shrugged, bit his lip and muttered something about “ _must be Tuesday_ ” and rolled over, as strangely detached as he'd increasingly tended to be.

Cas couldn't figure him out half the time. Most times he was playful and insatiable, whipping Cas into an erotic frenzy as he hadn't felt since he was a teenager. He joked and laughed and kissed Cas, alternatingly sweet and filthy as his mood changed. Other times he was quiet, reserved, watching him with old, tired eyes that Cas didn't recognize. Something in those looks scared him, made him feel like Dean was counting the hours until Cas got tired of him. Wary. The way those green eyes held wariness as easily as they did warmth and those rare moments of peace put Cas' teeth on edge.

He wanted to shake Dean sometimes, beg him to tell him what was going through his mind. But he was so fucking afraid of chasing Dean away. Dean seemed to trust him, certainly trusted him with his body, but he never once asked Cas for anything. Did Dean even _actually_ need him? 

He hadn't asked Cas to accompany him to meet with Balthazar. Hadn't wanted him there for support or whatever. Dean was separating him from a major part of his own life, compartmentalizing what they did together, what they felt together, from the rest of himself. Cas had yet to meet Sam, but he hadn't pushed for it either. As much as he wished and prayed that Dean would give up selling himself to pay the bills, he hadn't been able to voice his concerns, and Dean hadn't brought up a desire to leave that chapter of his life behind, not once.

Uriel was sitting across from him, going over case notes, occasionally asking Cas for his thoughts when Balthazar breezed in from the file room. He had a stack of manilla folders in his arms, and Cas could seen Dean's name across the tab of the one on the very top.

Cas hadn't realized he was staring at the file until the other detective stopped next to his desk with a smirk.

“Oh dear, Cassie. That's quite the scowl. Looks as if someone skipped _breakfast_ this morning.” 

He ground his teeth and reined in the desire to flip the man off, digging through the papers spread over his desk to unearth the innocuous memo he'd received from the Tech Unit requesting a meeting later that evening to discuss an ongoing case.

It had been over a week since he'd heard anything from Bradbury and he was hoping against hope that he might finally get some answers today. It was the only thing keeping him in his chair and not demanding his partner just tell him the truth already. 

Balthazar chuckled at his dismissal and walked toward his own desk. Just then he heard the doors of the squad room open with a quiet sound and felt the prickle of awareness at the back of his neck. The smile of greeting on Balthazar's face confirmed what his body knew.

Dean had arrived.

What the fuck was he supposed to do in this situation? His lover was in his place of work, on official business, and they had never gotten around to discussing what either of them would do if that should ever happen. Perhaps it had been hopeful ignorance of the likelihood of both of their lives crossing paths outside of Cas' apartment, the little bubble of sex and domestic bliss they'd been hiding in, but it was too late to go back and figure it all out now.

Dean had always shown reluctance for either of them to be seen together, and he wasn't sure what the root of it was. Was Dean concerned about what people would think of them? Was Dean trying to protect himself from reproach? Was it his way of telling Cas he had never meant for them to be exclusive?

In any case, Cas wasn't about to embarrass himself in front of the men and women he had to work with. He knew the minute he let his walls down and acknowledged Dean in this place, every single one of the cops around him would pick up on it.

Dean's eyes caught his eyes and the look on his face was unreadable. Dean could be so expressive sometimes, Cas could divine every emotion on that beautiful face, in those eyes, but Cas was lost to decipher it this time. The face itself was impassive, betraying nothing, but his eyes held a drop of sadness. He wanted it gone, hated the way it dulled the green eyes he loved to look into like they held the answers to the universe, but now was neither the time or place.

Professional it was.

He tipped the barest nod Dean's way and turned back to look down at the memo in his hands, fighting not to clench his hands in the paper, missing the wrenching, hurt look on that face he so adored.

He tried to keep his focus when he heard Balthazar greet Dean, glancing up to see Dean perched on the edge of the other detective's desk with a cheeky, private looking grin on his face and fingers that had been wrapped around Cas barely twenty-four hours ago stroking over Balthazar's coffee mug suggestively.

His body tightened with jealousy as Balthazar laid a hand on Dean's arm with an easy familiarity and began to lead him away from the desks towards the interview rooms. In a matter of minutes, the two of them would be shut up in a quiet room, alone, and every fantasy Cas had ever had of Dean in this place now flashed through his mind's eye, except instead of himself folding Dean over the battered interview table and pushing into the welcome heat of his lover's body, it was Balthazar.

Uriel looked up at him sharply when a soft growl slipped out of his mouth and Dean turned his head to peer over his shoulder. Something primal stretched itself within him when Dean's eyes darkened and he ran that wicked pink tongue over his lips.

His partner cleared his throat, shattering the moment and his eyes were drawn to the other man's face without intending to. He brushed off the question in the dark eyes, ignored the barely disguised sneer and flicked his eyes up one last time to see Balthazar's eyebrow arching incredulously as Dean shivered.

_That's right, Dean_ , he thought. _You already know who you belong to, don't you?_

He watched them from the corner of his eye as they turned the corner and disappeared down the hall.

\- -

Much as he tried to keep his mind on the work in front of him, he was utterly distracted. His gaze was repeatedly drawn to the hallway, waiting impatiently for the two men to come back. They'd been gone nearly an hour already, and Cas' blood pressure was rising as the clock ticked and made it's slow, steady circuit.

Apparently, he didn't do as great of a job at hiding his impatience as he'd thought.

Uriel scoffed at him, the disgust in that brief burst of sound evident. “Jesus, what is it with that fucking whore? Being queer doesn't mean you have to chase the ass of that piece of gutter trash, Cas.”

Cas felt that creature inside of him scrape its claws down the front of his chest. “The fuck are you talking about Uriel?”

His partner had the balls to fucking laugh in his face. “Oh Christ, you don't even see it do you? You've been practically panting after that for months now. It's disgusting, but I kept my mouth shut, hoping you'd come to your senses. Have you even thought about how many fucking johns that _thing_ has been with?”

Cas saw red and shoved his chair back. He stood and glared down at Uriel, the man's face haughty and superior, clearly not realizing how close he was to losing something vital.

He swallowed around the jagged lump in his throat. “You don't know anything.” He said low and dangerously as he stalked away.

\- -

Fuck, he shouldn't have walked away. His reaction had been as much of an admission if he'd sat there and confessed all. Fuck.

He'd stomped down the hallway, which was a fucking mistake all on its own. He hadn't been able to help looking through the small window set into the door of the interview room they were in, just in time to see Balthazar with his hand cupped under Dean's chin, a soft smile on the detective's face as he talked.

Cas stepped away from the door before he could barge in and start throwing chairs and bodies until he felt the cool concrete wall at his back. He crossed his arms over his chest and waited. He needed to have this shit out with Dean, fucking today.

Uriel's words had planted a thorny tangle of thoughts and images in his brain, so much worse than imagining Balthazar fucking Dean. The faceless, leering, slavering men with grabbing, dirty hands touching Dean were worse. This was the reason he'd never let himself think about what it meant that Dean still made his living the way he did. It made him sick to his stomach and he wanted to erase every man who'd ever come before him, destroy them.

The door opened and they emerged. Cas felt a snarl ripping through him and he swallowed that, too. Balthazar had his arm draped around Dean, pressed against Dean's side so casually. Dean looked terrified to see Cas, but it did nothing to lessen the black rage flowing through him like a terrible, poisoned sludge.

He looked directly into Balthazar's cool blue eyes and growled. “Could I have a quick word with Mr. Winchester, Detective Roche?”

Balthazar cocked an eyebrow and smirked, tightening his grip on Dean. After a moment he sighed dramatically and disengaged, dragging his fingers along Dean's shoulder as they moved apart. He murmured something that sounded like thanks to Dean, and he nodded absently as Balthazar walked away.

Cas' eyes were laser-focused on Dean and he watched his lover close his eyes and visibly brace himself, taking a deep breath before looking at him. Cas was barely keeping his body on lock down. Wanted to yank Dean to him and lay claim, right then and there in that hallway where God and anyone could find them.

“You wanted to talk to me, Detective?” The formality and false-bravado in Dean's tone made the creature inside lash out and he caught himself as he nearly launched himself across the hallway. He needed to get them somewhere private before he lost it. He clenched his fists where they were crossed over his chest and gestured toward the interview room door.

The temper of the beast pulled back as he watched Dean hesitate, watched Dean decide to trust being alone with him or not. Fuck. That is not what he wanted.

He followed Dean's tense shoulders into the room and had the door closed and locked in seconds. He didn't wait for Dean to turn to him, just crowded him up against the mirror that thanks to the country's obsession with police procedural shows, everyone assumed was a real two-way window. It was a joke among uniforms and detectives, but it came in handy now that he could see Dean's face as he pressed tight against him, feeling his cock harden against his will at the close proximity of the heat of that body. It was a goddamned conditioned response and the way Dean arched back against him had his brain fuzzing out like bad cable TV.

He sucked in a breath of Dean and couldn't help letting his mouth fall to the pulse pounding in Dean's throat, stroking his tongue across the throb.

“C-cas? You alright?” Dean's voice was breathy and Cas wanted it screaming his name, fuck that they were in the fucking police station. He'd take Dean over the table and banish the thought of Balthazar being the one, of anyone else being the one besides him.

He sucked a mark hard onto Dean's neck, feeling him buck back against him. He needed to hear that Dean wanted this, wanted him as much as he did. He needed to hear that he would be the only one from now on.

He bent low to Dean's ear. “He touched you. You let another man touch you.” He wanted Dean to say it was nothing, nothing.

Dean's body tensed beneath his. “Cas...a lot of men touch me. A lot of men do more than touch me.” His voice was quiet, but it didn't make it cut any less deeply.

He nearly staggered away from Dean, but what did he expect? He hadn't made any demands. Didn't think he had the right, really, but obviously he should have said something if Dean, who had claimed to love him, was so blasé about letting other men fuck him.

Well that was going to change. It would change, it would have to. He couldn't live like this anymore.

He turned Dean in his arms slowly and pushed with his body until they were as close as they could be with layers of cloth between them. Dean's body shook in a fine tremble under his fingers as he slid them up his throat to raise his face until they were eye to eye.

Dean's breath quickened and he wanted to taste the sweetness of his mouth. He leaned in until their lips brushed gently. “No one but me will _ever_ touch you again, Dean. No one.” 

He stole the breath that Dean took and the thing in his chest crowed in triumph. This boy was his. No one would dare to touch him now.

Their bodies fused wherever they touched, molding together as they fed from each other. Cas' heart soared with it and felt desire explode through him when Dean rocked his hips against him with a needy whimper. He groaned and broke the kiss and buried his face in Dean's neck as Dean's hands crawled over him, down his back to fist in the fabric of his shirt.

His eyes opened and he remembered where they were. Fuck. He could _not_ do this _here_. He had more control than this. Or _had_ before Dean. He reached back to take hold of Dean's wrists, stilling his movements and huffed out a breath.

“I want to see you tonight.” He wanted to finish what they had started, properly. They needed to talk, obviously once they got this shit out of their systems. The raw power of the lust Dean raised in him was almost a living thing, it was so strong. There were things he needed to say without this in the way.

Dean was silent long enough to send a frisson of doubt slithering into his brain.

His sigh was a tiny puff against Cas' ear. “I-I can't Cas.” He pulled back to see Dean's eyes and watched them widen and shutter in the same moment. “I'm sorry.” He said. “I need to spend some time with Sammy.”

Right. That was fair. Dean needed time with his brother, Cas wouldn't deny him that. He nodded tightly. “Tomorrow.”

Dean bit his lip and looked away before taking a steadying breath. “I have to work tomorrow night.” He said looking back to him pleadingly, his voice wavering.

Fuck.

_Fuck._

He felt the heat that had built within him leach away, felt himself go cold in a way he didn't think he'd ever felt before. Dean's mouth opened, as if to beg him...for what he didn't want to fucking hear, couldn't hear it right now. “Baby, please...” He heard Dean's voice crack and he couldn't stand there anymore.

He pushed off the wall with his body held tight enough that it felt like his muscles were carved from marble and turned his back on Dean, throwing open the door and walking away without so much as a backward glance.

The thing in his chest was deadly quiet, but he could feel it pressing upward on his lungs as if it were trying to choke him from within.

\- - -

By midnight that night, Cas was parked two streets down from the opulent Novak mansion on the corner of a quiet Back Bay street, watching people come and go like it was just a regular Sunday afternoon social hour.

He'd silenced his phone and sat wound tighter than a spring with the half-tepid dregs of a paper cup of coffee clenched in his fist.

Waiting.

After he'd stomped off from the interview room and snarled a terse “Fuck you” to Balthazar's question of if he was feeling alright, he'd pounded down the stairs and shoved into the Tech Unit hours before schedule.

Fucking everything was unraveling under his feet, he needed answers or someone was going to answer to _him_. 

Bradbury had shrieked when her office door had exploded open, taken a hard look at his face and gulped. 

“Time to lay off the caffeine, Bruce. Sit your ass down and dial back the fury.” She'd pointed to a chair in the corner and he sat stiffly, trying not to feel like a pouty toddler put in time out for a tantrum. She turned back around to her screen, ignoring him while he glared.

He had tried to follow as she went into a folder on the screen and clicked deeper and deeper into her archives until she brought up a final folder. One by one documents had popped up, filling the screen with things that barely made sense to him.

She'd looked back at him. “Calm? Or...calm-ish?” He'd nodded, teeth clenched together to avoid shouting.

She had waved him forward and he stood to the side of her chair, trying not to loom.

And then, with one piece of evidence after another, she'd broken down, brick by brick, the foundation of everything he'd thought he'd known about his partner.

Which was precisely why he was here now, waiting to see his partner, fuck, the man he'd trusted to have his back, come out of his brother's house and prove himself a traitor.

Dirty cop.

He'd refused to believe it at first, but the extremely well-hidden financial records couldn't lie. Regular deposits from unknown sources, well beyond a Vice cop's salary, had been revealed as payments from none other than Cas' own brother Michael.

Had Michael moved to take over the family business? Cas wasn't sure if his father was even still around, or just sitting quietly behind the scenes watching his son's continue on the family legacy. What specifically was Michael paying Uriel to do? He remembered Ellen's accusation of he and his partner letting cases slip through the cracks without being investigated properly. Had Uriel done that? Had he used Cas to do it?

The phone records had shown phone calls between Michael and Uriel in a pattern that Cas had looked into once he'd ensured his partner was out of the station. Certain calls were made sometimes only hours before they had shown up on a crime scene or more distressingly, right before a sting operation fell through.

Bookies, drug dealers, money laundering, prostitution....they had been involved in everything, and that meant the Novaks were involved in it all, too.

Fucking Christ. He hated his fucking family. They had never been happy with what they'd had. Greedy for more. More power, more territory, more money, they'd never stopped. His older brothers had been the worst of them all, hot headed and devious where their father had been almost neutral about his “business ventures.” He was certain that between Michael and Luke they were responsible for the rising tide of crime in the old neighborhood.

It needed to stop.

He sat up hard when the front door of the house opened and Uriel and Michael walked down the front steps. He muttered a curse when he gripped the cup hard enough to crush it, dumping cold coffee into his lap. He kept his eyes on his brother and his partner while he groped around in the console for a handful of napkins, mopping up the mess down the front of his shirt and slacks as he watched them shake hands and Michael slapping Uriel on the back like an old friend.

Uriel climbed into his SUV and pulled out into the street, away from where Cas was sitting and he let his head fall back against the headrest.

He'd asked for proof, dammit. Now he had it.

Did he take this to IAB?

Fuck.

What the hell did he do now?

He watched his brother disappear back into the house and five minutes later cranked the engine over and slipped quietly away, the silence of his tires on the pavement in direct opposition to the roaring in his head.

He just wanted one fucking night of silence. Wanted Dean's voice out of his head, wanted all the fucking voices shouting at him gone.

He reached over and flipped open the glove box to dig out the bottle he knew he'd hidden there. He felt shame heat his face when he saw the disappointed stare of the Virgin on him from where he'd tossed her in a panic all those months ago.

That was it. The point where all of this shit had gone downhill. That night he'd given into lust, given into temptation, and look where it had fucking led.

He snatched the bottle out and slammed the glove box shut.

\- - -

At some point during the next day, he woke up in a fog of alcohol and found himself on the floor of his bedroom, dressed in yesterday's coffee stained clothes, tatters and scraps of pink satin and lace scattered around him.

Jesus Christ, what had he  _done_ ?

He scrubbed a hand over his face and felt the burn of stubble on his palm. He climbed unsteadily to his feet and watched fabric that looked like it had been torn apart by bare hands flutter to the ground. He groaned and stumbled his way to the bathroom.

He was a fucking mess. His eyes were bloodshot, his hair in matted clumps all over his head. He splashed water onto his face, not entirely certain he could stay upright long enough to take a shower. Gingerly, he pulled off his clothes, stripped down and dropped them in a pile on the bathroom floor. A thunk sounded from his pants and he stooped to fumble around in the pockets, finding his dead phone and a handful of receipts from bars and the package store down the block from his apartment.

He dressed in a pair of old jeans, heart clenching when his eyes skipped over the sweats Dean loved in a neat stack with one of his t-shirt by the window.

He located his charger in the kitchen and powered his phone up while he waited for coffee. Dishes were still stacked in the sink from he and Dean's breakfast in bed adventure two days earlier, and fuck. Was fucking everything in  _his_ apartment going to remind him of Dean now?

As his phone juiced up it exploded with missed calls.

Uriel, Turner, Balthazar....

Dean.

Oh God.

Had Dean called to tell him it was over? It had felt over to him when he'd had all that anger thrumming through his system, but now...Did he want it to be over?

Fuck. No. He wanted  _Dean_ . But he couldn't keep pretending to be okay with sharing him. Someone had to choose.

He ignored the voicemails from his bastard partner, the threatening ones from Turner, the concerned one from Balthazar and poured a cup of coffee.

He swallowed half of it before refilling it with whiskey.

Irish breakfast to solve everything.

\- - -

- **now** -

Unfortunately for Cas, he hadn't just stopped at the one. When the whiskey laced coffee had been drained, it had been replaced with just the liquor.

He didn't know how deep into his bottles he'd gotten before he'd gotten the fucking fantastic idea to march down to Dean's apartment and talk their problems out once and for all.

He also, unfortunately, conveniently forgot that Dean had said he'd be working that night.

He'd pounded on the door until it had opened hesitantly to the limit of the security chain on the inside of the door. A young, sleepy looking kid with shaggy hair had poked his face into the crack, one massive question on his face.

He attempted a friendly smile. “Hey there. You must be Sam, right?” The kid nodded, hazel eyes with a touch of Dean's vibrant green were wary. “I'm Castiel. Cas, Novak. Dean might have told you about me?”

Another nod. “Great. Well...” He tried not to sway on his feet. “I really need to talk to Dean.”

The kid's expression looked apologetic. “Uh, Dean isn't here right now. He had to go to...out. I don't know when he'll be back.”

The thing in his chest, his new constant companion, raised its dark head and dug razor tipped claws into his gut. He fought back the wave of anger building in response. “I'm sorry, Sam. But its pretty urgent that I speak to him. Can I come in and wait for him?”

Sam bit his lip and Cas could hear him shuffling from one foot to another behind the door. “I don't think that's a good idea. Maybe...Maybe you could call him tomorrow?” He asked hopefully.

Cas felt his face struggle not to go hard and he ground his teeth. He couldn't wait until tomorrow, one more day could be one too many. He felt like a massive dick for what he was about to do, but...desperation makes a man do many things he ought not.

He braced a hand on the door jamb and kept his eyes on Sam as he reached down and pushed his jacket off of his hip, revealing his badge. The kids eyes dropped like they were supposed to and his face paled, eyes widening in fear.

“I'd really appreciate it if you let me in, Sam. You see, I'm a police officer, and I need to speak to Dean tonight.” He said in his most neutral cop voice.

Sam licked dry lips hastily and chewed on the bottom one. He looked between Cas' face and the badge, weighing his options before he nodded just a little. Relief flooded through him when the door closed and he heard the sound of the chain being undone before it opened again, wider.

Sam was wearing a pair of flannel pajama pants that were slightly too short in the leg and a t-shirt that had the local high school's logo on it. His hands wrung together and he motioned Cas in.

He looked around the small apartment as he stepped inside and Sam closed the door behind him, doing up at least four different locks. There was an old blue couch dominating the space that passed as a living room, and a small TV set stacked on top of couple of battered milk crates. The carpet was stained, but everything smelled clean like Pine Sol and woodsy, masculine scent.

The kitchen right off of that little corner was just as tiny, the fridge and appliances decades out of date, but again, clean and free of clutter. The front of the old fridge was covered with marked papers that must have been Sam's, a school calendar, and a few pictures of the two boys tacked up with magnets.

The chipped dinette set had matching chairs with the vinyl torn in a a few places, but the space as a whole felt more homey than any place Cas had ever lived in. This was a place where people were loved, where people took care of each other, laughed together. The ache of longing was acute, here in this place where Dean lived. Signs of him were everywhere, almost a physical presence, the scent he so loved permeated everything.

Sam had backed himself into a corner of the countertop and had his arms crossed over his scrawny chest. “Um...can I make you some coffee while you wait? I'm just working on some homework in my room, but...”

Cas scooted a chair out from the table, wincing at the scrape on the linoleum and sat. “Yeah, that'd be great. Thanks. If you just get it started, I can take it from there. Don't wanna keep you from your homework.” He smiled crookedly. Sam chewed on his lip again while he pulled a can of ground coffee and a filter from the cabinet, glancing over his shoulder while he got the coffee maker prepped. He hit the On button and the machine hissed and gurgled as it started.

He pointed to the cabinet he'd taken the coffee from. “Mugs are there. I think we still have some milk, and sugar's in that other cabinet.” Cas nodded in thanks and watched as Sam hurried off down the short hallway and a door closed with a quiet thud.

Cas heaved a sigh, suddenly feeling worn out and stupid, face in his hands. He could hear a murmur of Sam's voice from his room and he wondered if the kid was calling Dean to let him know Cas was here.

\- -

Two hours and several cups of coffee later, he was growing restless, not to mention his bladder was uncomfortably full. He'd heard not another peep from Sam since he'd scurried away and Cas got up from the table, intent on finding the bathroom as quietly as he could. He looked down the hallway Sam had disappeared down and saw a closed bedroom door with no light peeking out from underneath. Kid must have gone to bed. Was it a school night?

He found the bathroom easily enough at the opposite end of the hall, relieved himself and was headed back to the kitchen to settle in yet again when he saw a second bedroom door, cracked open. Curiosity tugged at him and with a look around to ensure the coast was clear, he pushed open the door and slipped inside.

He flicked the light on and just stood in the doorway, taking in Dean's room. The double bed against the wall was neat and made with sharp military corners. A small nightstand next to it held a battered desk lamp and there was a book laid on top. Cas crossed to it and ran his finger over the torn cover of The Hobbit. The drawer of the nightstand was crooked and probably stuck badly each time it was opened or shut and with only a minute's hesitation, he was sliding it open.

The contents of the drawer brought a flush of arousal and jealousy as he looked. A small mountain of condoms with the logo of some clinic took up most of the drawer, along with lube packets and a collection of rainbow hued sex toys of various sizes. He flushed harder when he saw the little pink plug from that day at the lingerie shop and his stomach clenched when he remembered the destroyed pile of scraps that had once made up the corset and panties he'd bought for Dean on his own bedroom floor.

He closed the drawer and turned from it to face a modest sized dresser with a mirror propped up on top of it. He faltered with his hand on the pull of the top drawer, wondering what the hell he thought he was doing, digging through Dean's stuff, but he was already in this deep. He pulled the drawer open and felt his cock twitch almost painfully at the sight of mounds ruffles, lace, and satin of every color.

He fished out a tiny pair of baby blue bikini style panties edged in soft, dark blue lace. The back of the panties were tantalizingly cut out, and Cas' mouth watered imagining the way Dean's round cheeks would peek out just so nicely from them. He thought about tucking them away in his pocket and taking them with him but decided against it. He moved to put them back where he'd found them, and spied the crinkled up edge of a business card that had seen better days. He was about to lift it out for closer inspection when he heard the sound of the front door being unlocked and he panicked, immediately feeling guilty for his unwarranted search.

He shoved the drawer shut just as the front door opened and Dean's voice called out “Sam!” Cas hurried to turn the lights out and sneak back out the bedroom door. He stopped dead in the doorway at the furious look on Dean's face and saw the door down the hall open out of the corner of his eye.

Dean's clothes were twisted and disheveled and he walked with slight limp as he came toward Cas. The evidence of his night “out” was plain to see and the thing inside Cas roared as his vision hazed with red.

“What the hell are you doing here, Cas? Were...were you fucking searching my bedroom?!” Dean looked downright violent with anger and Cas was gearing up to snarl back when the anger faded with effort from Dean's face as Sam appeared. He squeezed his eyes shut and he looked weary, tired.

Cas sneered. “I came to talk to you, to apologize for being shitty to you yesterday at the station. You just couldn't fuckin' wait though, could you? So eager to sell that tight little ass.”

Dean's eyes hardened and Sam gasped.

“Does Sam know that you let anyone who'll pay you fuck you to pay the bills, Dean? Does he know you're just a fuckin'-”

Dean cut him off with a bark of bitter laughter. “Sammy, you wanted to meet my boyfriend. Meet Cas. My ex." He turned a cold look Cas' way "Whatever the hell you called me when you weren't fucking me into anything that could hold us,  consider it ex now, you fucking bastard. I never pretended to be anything I wasn't, so don't you fucking act like this is a surprise.”

His face flushed in anger at having the truth shoved in his face and struggled to come up with a response.

“Sam, go to your room, bud. I'll be fine, I'm just gonna make sure Detective Novak falls down the stairs on his way the fuck out.”

Sam turned, but looked back over his shoulder in concern as he went.

Cas stalked forward, trying to push into Dean's space, but Dean stepped back at the last minute and he stumbled.

He spun, ready to shout and was drawn up short at the sight of Dean with tears glittering in his eyes.

God he was such a piece of shit. What the hell was wrong with him? His anger, his pride, all of it washed away as Dean refused to let those tears fall.

Cas held out a hand, reaching for Dean, and his face crumbled. “Just...get out of here, Cas. It's over. Whatever we had. It's done.”

His throat tightened painfully. “Oh God, Dean. Please. I'm so fuckin' sorry. I didn't mean-”

Dean's face morphed from hurt to furious in the blink of an eye and shoved him back with a snarl. “Didn't mean what, Cas? To come to my apartment and intimidate my fucking _brother_ so you could get in here? To look through my shit? To call me a...a whore? I don't want to hear it. You did all of that, and you can't fucking take it back. So get out!”

“Dean, please. I love-” Dean shoved him again and he fell on his ass. He looked up at Dean, feeling like his world was ending. Like he'd pushed the self-destruct button himself and blown it all to hell. Dean stared down at him with eyes that cut like knives.

“You know what, Cas? I've heard it before.” Cas knew his face must have shown his confusion and Dean laughed again, the sound digging into his ears the way his usual beautiful laugh never did. “I might be a whore, but at least I'm not pathetic. Why is it you only have the balls to tell me you love me when you're drunk? Can't bring yourself to say it in the light of day?”

Oh Jesus, oh fuck.

“Dean-” He pleaded.

“Just get the fuck out, Cas. I won't tell you again.” He had never heard Dean's voice so cold, so dead.

So this was it. This was the moment he'd finally fucked up the best thing that had ever happened to him. He should have seen it coming.

He got to his feet and Dean crossed his arms tight over his chest as he walked to the door. Flipping open latches, he stopped and looked back when he got the door open. Dean's shoulders were hunched over, holding onto his own arms like he was drowning and the pain on his pale face echoed inside Cas as he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.

\- -

He found his car parked a few blocks down, one tire up on the sidewalk. What the fuck had he been thinking, driving here, drunk out of his senses? He was goddamn lucky he hadn't killed himself, let alone someone else.

He threw himself into the driver's seat and slumped back, feeling like something had been ripped from his chest.

For the first time in two days, that creature inside of him, that thing he now knew was the pride he'd been choking on, that had consumed him so wholly with self-righteousness was gone, silent, an empty, cold hole in its place.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Gabe's number from memory, trying not to taste the panic creeping up the back of his throat as it rang and rang. Gabe answered with a groggy “ _Cas?”_

Cas choked on a sob. “Gabe...Oh God, I fucked up.”

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Also check out [Not Without Virtue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/955373), the companion fic to Vices. The two stories will run side by side, each chapter alternating. 
> 
> Vices will carry more of the plot and most of the explicit sex, but Dean's voice wanted to be heard in this, too.


End file.
